


Scent of Queer

by amelia



Series: A Torchwood Almanac [5]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Torchwood
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Gay Bashing, Gay Rights, Genetic Experimentation, Genetics, Guns, Homophobia, Horror, Jack's Past, Lesbian Makeouts, M/M, Murder, Mystery, Original Character(s), PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress, Pregnancy, Religion, Romance, Self-Defense, Sexual Identity, Slash, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, Weevils (Torchwood)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-16 11:18:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amelia/pseuds/amelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ianto's arrested for murder, and the police won't recognize Torchwood's authority, the team must prove he was acting in the line of duty. Investigating the crime, they learn more about the weevils and a local religious group in Cardiff that knows too much about Torchwood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for Jack's PTSD (only in Ch1), twisted religion, homophobic characters. Also for rape/non-con but in no way explicit or involving main characters.
> 
> This story was originally posted to Teaspoon (under the title "Scent Signatures") and is here with some edits for readability and grammar.  
> All mistakes are my own, please let me know.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack slips back through time, remembering a mission gone wrong. Ianto guides him home.

**Prologue**

Blood rushed through Jack’s veins as he gasped back to life. Something pressed down against him, squeezing out his breath again. He shoved upward, growing panicked, and opened his eyes to see the faces of two men, bloated, eyes bugged out, and their skin white and blue. Dead.

With the weight of his shoulder, he shoved again, dislodging the corpses. He rolled out to the side, feeling the concrete against his body, and pushed himself to his feet. He stumbled until his palms grasped a ladder, and he was pulling himself up, into the light. 

Jack found himself in his office, in the Hub. Down below, he heard Ianto’s sleepy voice, but he still felt the corpses that had held him down all those years ago there, too, watching him. He leaned on the desk, gasping for air, feeling his stomach churn. He was aware that he’d just pushed Ianto off him in bed and that it was just another Torchwood morning. Still, his heart was racing and the memory was all too real. He had to find Ed, his partner, who’d run in the other direction down the warehouse tunnels to escape, all those years ago. 

“Edwin,” he tried to call, but it was just a croak, not a shout. Jack clawed his way out the door. “Ed!” He was peering into the shadows, looking for movement or a body. But all he saw was the Hub, looking routine but surreal. It was different than it had been, then, and far different from the warehouse.

“Jack,” Ianto said behind him, “You all right?” 

“It’s dark,” Jack tried to explain as he leaned his back on the door frame. “They’re all dead.” But he remembered now--he had found Edwin, huddled in a corner, frightened but alive. 

“You’re at Torchwood, now,” Ianto said, “Jack, you’re safe.” He was approaching, cautiously, one hand raised in reassurance.

Jack flinched, even though he knew Ianto was only trying to help. He looked back behind him, knowing that he'd been hunted. There might still be troops looking for any survivors, and their mission was to shoot on contact and aim to kill. He could still see the warehouse, as if overlaid on the Hub--two geographies, conflicting.

“Come back now, Jack.” Ianto held out a thin fabric, blue, that absorbed the light. Jack saw a shroud. Perhaps he'd died, after all. Perhaps it was all over. He shut his eyes tight. But it was just a blanket, and it smelled familiar, like Ianto. He felt the weight of it settle around his shoulders, reminding him here and now, they were safe at Torchwood. 

Ianto led Jack back into the office, into his chair. Only sitting down, clutching the blanket's corners, did Jack notice they were both still barely dressed. Ianto's shoulders were dotted in light goose pimples. Jack looked at the wall, trying to gather himself. This was their habit-–Ianto wrapped him in a blanket when his mind slipped back through time and guided him home again. 

Jack could still see the warehouse. He shivered. The light had been so dark, so green, worse than the fluorescents buzzing over his head. There had been 10 or 12 men, lying there all around him, dead eight hours or more. He'd felt the flies against his skin, inhaled the stink of rot. He was gagging again, but Ianto's arm was anchoring his shoulder.

“Breathe, Jack, you're fine. Deep breath now.” Ianto guided him upright and squatted down to look him in the eye. “Where are you, this time?”

“We were hunting alien poachers, collectors,” Jack recalled, “and they surprised us in a warehouse. It was 1972 or 3. I woke up under corpses.” 

“You died and came back.” 

“Yeah,” Jack nodded. “I went looking for my partner. Officer Edwin Clarke, Torchwood.” He took in Ianto’s face as he talked and saw the concern there. Ianto’s cheek was glowing–-he’d have a bruise in a couple hours. Jack’s hand must have connected with his cheekbone when he’d pushed away from their bunk.

“Tell me?” 

“Ed saw me die,” Jack explained. “When I found him, he was huddling in a corner and thought I was a ghost. I sat down on the side of the room, and we watched each other till the sun came up. Till I could show him that I was real.”

Ianto nodded. “Did you catch them?”

“One of them got away,” Jack admitted. “Hailey, Arthur Hailey.” He reached out to Ianto's bruised cheek. “Did I hurt you?”

But Ianto intercepted his hand, rubbing a thumb along his wrist. “I’m fine,” he lied. “Are you back now?”

“Yeah,” Jack nodded, “Just--Give me a few minutes?”

Ianto looked like he wanted to protest, but instead he nodded. He squeezed Jack’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder, then pulled away just as quickly. “I’ll get coffee started.” 

“Thank you.” Jack shut the door and pulled out his tin of old photographs. After the incident, Ed had quit Torchwood. He'd married, and here were the photos. Jack couldn't remember the bride's name. Their children, a boy and girl, must be grown now. Ed was a lawyer in Cardiff, though he must be sixty now or seventy.

“It’s been too long, Ed,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.” Jack tucked the photos back in the drawer and stared a long time at the worn surface of his desk. 

 


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at work, Ianto goes to capture weevils with Owen and runs into someone who has some unpleasant words for him.

Edwin Clarke had become a well-respected criminal defense attorney--looking at his web site and family photos online, Jack felt a pang of nostalgia and loss. He was sitting at Owen's desk in the afternoon, waiting for his team to get back an afternoon call of stray weevils in the city center. Now, the CCTV screens showed Owen and Ianto were stuffing the weevils in the cells below.

“What did he say to you back there?” Owen's voice finally echoed up through the stone tunnels. Ianto’s reply was lost among their boot steps.

Jack shut down his web browser and turned as they walked in the room. “Everything all right?” 

“Our new guests are settling in,” Owen reported. “The tranquilizers should wear off in-–oh, thirty minutes.”

“Janet’s about to have some company,” Ianto added. They both looked mussed, dirty, but otherwise unharmed. Owen dropped his bag of weapons and gadgets onto his desk, and Ianto started packing away the stun-guns. 

“It’s weird,” Owen said as they worked. “Weevils don’t wander about in broad daylight.”

“They were in a narrow, dark alley,” Ianto pointed out. “Emphasis on dark.”

Jack stood watching them. “Did anyone see you?” 

“Well,” Owen started, “Tea Boy did stop for a heart-to-heart with some bloke.” 

“He stepped out of the alley,” returned Ianto. “I’ll retcon him if we need to.”

“Was he better looking than me?” Jack pasted on a saucy smile, suddenly wondering if Ianto had been seeing anyone. He hadn’t mentioned it, but then, they didn’t talk much about their lives outside work and each other.

Ianto glanced up and back to his work. “No, Jack.”

“Still think it’s weird you sent him instead of coming yourself, Jack,” Owen sounded annoyed, but he always did.

“Ianto’s perfectly capable,” Jack answered. “Owen, I want you to monitor the weevils. Let me know if they do anything unusual when they wake up.”

“Besides growl and drool?” Owen asked. He sighed, picking up the empty bag and closing the last desk drawer. “Fine, but I’ll have to do the alien sample analysis tomorrow.” 

“Fine,” Jack agreed. “Ianto, I need your report.”

Ianto closed the gun cases, clicked them shut, and set them under the desk. Then he turned and walked right past Jack toward the office. Jack followed. Ianto's shoulders were tense, like a dark square, and Jack was starting to feel apprehensive. “Look,” he said when he’d shut the door behind them. “You can have a private conversation with anyone you like. But do it on your own time, not while you’re hunting.” 

Ianto’s eyes flickered to the side of the room, avoiding him. Jack could see the stains on his coat, small tears at the cuffs where he’d wrestled the weevils downstairs into the holding cells. “He approached me, sir--"

“My advice?” Jack winked, trying to lighten the mood. “Keep weevils out of your bedroom entirely.” 

He was rewarded with a faint, if exasperated, smile. “No, actually–-"

Jack crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Do you want to tell me about him?” 

“It’s not like that,” Ianto moved forward. He opened his mouth, then hesitated, but finally spoke. “Jack, what’s the smell of queer?”

“What?” Jack, confused, tried to laugh it off. He uncrossed his arms and drew Ianto in closer. “The smell? Dirty boxers?” 

Ianto’s eyes met his, but just as quickly looked down. 

“Okay,” Jack tried again. “We project what we want all the time. It’s in our sweat, whether it’s money or fame. Sex with women. Sex with men.” 

“And some people can smell all that?” Ianto asked.

“I once dated a guy whose species communicated by scent,” Jack said. “Ugly as an elephant, but he smelled like sex heaven. He could sense my deepest motivations,” Jack paused. “But humans can’t do that.” 

“So,” Ianto smiled suddenly at his own peculiar joke. “Winchester Welk’s an alien then?”

Jack shook his head, still confused. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?” 

Ianto turned away, nearly rolling his eyes. “The politician, you know the one. He followed the weevils right out of the alley, came up to me, and said he could smell a filthy queer a mile away.” 

“Oh,” Jack said, as the story settled into place. “And you let him rattle you?” 

Ianto shook his head. “No, sir. But he knew too much about me--us. Torchwood. Like he set the weevils free to lure me there.”

“Hm,” Jack considered this. “So, who is he? Can he really smell all that, and what’s his connection with the weevils?” 

“No idea,” Ianto turned to look out the window, into the Hub. “But I’m going to find out.” 

“Good man.” Jack stood behind him and felt Ianto lean back against him. “Find everything you can about him, then we’ll deal with him.”

“Could be he started researching us first, Jack.” 

“You mean Torchwood?” Jack squeezed Ianto’s shoulders, trying to calm him down.

Ianto shook his head, turning back around. “I mean, us, Jack.” 

They leaned into each other. Usually, they could brush off nasty comments as mere prejudice, but this seemed bigger. “So he’s been spying on us. We’re not hiding anything, are we?”

Ianto looked bemused. “No. But we don’t, Jack. Not in public.” 

Jack reached up and traced the bruise on Ianto’s cheekbone with his thumb. “I’m sorry.”

Ianto sighed into him and started slinking his fingers up Jack’s chest. Then he tweaked a nipple through Jack’s shirt. 

Surprised, Jack pulled away. “Tease!” 

“Queer.” Ianto looked back at him, somewhere between reproach and seduction.

Jack snorted. “That makes two of us. You know that, right?” 

“How’d he know?” Ianto asked, and turned away again. Jack had no answer, and Ianto walked back out of the office, toward his desk. 

“No stopwatch games tonight, then?” Jack called after him. A knot of frustration in his belly, Jack turned away and flicked on the CCTV from the cells below the Hub. The weevils were waking up, growling and drooling.

\-------------------- 

Alone in the Hub, Jack stared at his paperwork-–black and white as ever. The Hub was quiet enough to hear the fountain dripping and the sweep of Myfanwy’s wings. It hadn't taken Owen long to decide the weevils weren’t doing anything of interest, and he'd left early. Ianto was out too, presumably researching Welk or buying supplies. Toshiko had been scarce all day, deep in her lab or already gone, and Gwen was out tonight, playing peacekeeper with Rhys’ parents.

The Captain was growing antsy. Finally, he stood and paced over to Ianto’s corner. Jack squatted down in front of the refrigerator, sifting through the packages of meat, but could not tell which were Owen's alien meat samples, and which were food for the pteranadon. Ianto, their resident zookeeper, was just a speed dial away, but Jack stopped himself from calling. Ianto would report in when he was ready. Sometimes they needed time apart. Jack just hoped he wasn’t somewhere nursing a pint and ruminating on Welk’s nasty comments.

Jack pulled a package from the fridge at random, then climbed the ladder to Myfanwy’s perch. He unwrapped the meat and set it on top of a dusty steel beam. Just as she swooped in, he darted out of range. With her razor-sharp beak, she tore up the meat. Specks of blood flew out over the Hub like mist in a primeval jungle. 

Jack looked down. He’d stood on many rooftops, feeling the wind rush by, and thinking maybe if he jumped, the Doctor would catch him on a whim. Now, he looked out over Gwen's desk cluttered in paperwork and Tosh's layered with electronic projects. And over there was Ianto's corner, his shelf of file folders, and his table lined with steaming alien terrariums, coffee mugs, and supplies.

Myfanwy had been Ianto’s pet from the beginning. Now, she screeched in the air, tossing the last of the meat into her gullet. The rest of the paper flew over the ledge and down into the water. Jack sighed and climbed back down to clean it up. He needed something to do, so he switched on the police radio feed. It was active tonight: the usual traffic accidents, then some disturbance involving bald, hunchbacked men limping around, who sounded like weevils. 

Packing his gear, Jack prepared to go weevil hunting again and kept listening. And then there was a murder. Witnesses reported a man, mid-60s, shot twice in the chest in a wealthy neighborhood. The victim was soon identified: businessman and politician, Winchester Welk. The assailant was in police custody: a young, Caucasian male, dark hair, estimated 1.8 meters tall and about 20 years old, wearing a dark suit. 

Jack’s coat was already on. Running for the lift, he pulled his phone and dialed. The police commissioner’s voice was dry on the other end of the line, as if she was expecting him. “This better be good, Harkness.”

Jack didn’t waste time. “If that’s Ianto Jones you have in custody for shooting Welk, you know he’s Torchwood. Let him go. Authorization 4-7-4-3-1-7.” Then he was outside, staring out over the Plass, looking for the SUV. There was a drizzle, lights coming on over the city, and businessmen heading home after work.

“Not this time, Captain.” Her voice was dry and bored, like she was standing in a room with grey walls and fluorescent lighting and letting other people do the dirty work. 

“I’m on my way,” Jack told her, and peeled the SUV with a screech out toward the street.

\-------------------- 

That afternoon, Ianto had buried himself in research. He saw Gwen leave. Owen gave him an awkward “Later, mate,” and Tosh nodded goodbye, and meanwhile, he researched Welk.

The man was involved in politics and tied in with a local Church. He was religious and cruel, but Ianto had heard his words before, some of them on radio shows his father once listened to.

But was Welk an alien? Or had he found some trinket that gave him special powers of smell? Ianto dug into his past, but found only the usual–two proud parents, a childhood in London, and twenty years in Cardiff working with the Harvest Church, run by one Arthur Hailey. 

The name sounded familiar, though Ianto couldn't place it. Hailey preached that God could smell the sins of the people, and that obeying the Lord's will meant that men must pursue scientific research, to advance themselves. They even advocated for medical body modifications, for cloning, and stem cell research. 

Ianto had never been religious, but he'd been raised with the traditions. Still, Hailey's teachings veered from other Christian or Catholic sects he knew, and their interest in genetic research might explain Welk's enhanced sense of smell. 

Ianto thought of Jack's pheremones, 51st century magic. He needed time to think. This Torchwood life had spiraled out of control. After the Battle of Canary Wharf, after losing Lisa, Ianto had turned to the strongest support around him. He'd latched on to the myth of the Captain, this man who didn't even exist. 

Jack wasn't the only one with nightmares. Sometimes they'd be pressed together, kissing, touching, and aliens would swarm the room. Men like Hailey and Welk would follow them, laughing and jeering. Ianto and Jack avoided labels, but what they shared at least was a comfort--though his dreams made a mockery of that, and turned it into something sick and depraved. 

Jack was absorbed in paperwork for now, and Ianto didn't want to face him. What he'd found was too preliminary, too inconclusive, and there could be more clues in Welk's home or his office. So Ianto scooped his keys out of his desk, and took his own car to investigate.

He drove slowly through Welk's neighborhood. It held rows of well-kept homes, crowded with cars, mostly dark SUVs and sleek sedans. Ianto drove past slowly, then around the block. He saw couples strolling down the street, and parked where he could watch Welk's home. 

Two by two, the couples knocked on Welk's door and were let inside. There must be an event or party planned. Ianto studied them--they were all in evening wear, and oddly, they were all older men with younger women. 

The girls reminded him of Lisa somehow, of his girlfriend who'd been taken by the Cybermen and converted. She’d been too young to die, yet he’d moved on and loved the man who killed her. He couldn’t begin to sort out all the things he felt about Jack Harkness, but now wasn’t the time. Ianto took a breath, letting his thoughts unfocus, and waited till all the guests were inside. 

Then, finally, he stepped out of his car, and hurried around the house. He crawled within some greenery, under a window, and peered inside to watch. Welk’s double-paned windows blocked any sound, but Ianto could see the party had gathered for a toast. 

He needed to know whom Welk and Hailey associated with, so he dug in his pocket and pulled out his phone to record what he could see on video. After the party drank and cheered, the room seemed to grow even more crowded with people. But some of them were hunched and limping.

With apprehension clawing in his stomach, he realized they were weevils, but somehow the men just stood aside, and the women stayed where they were. Ianto’s breath was coming fast and hard, fear rising in his chest, and he knew he couldn’t stop them on his own. He’d need backup, but he couldn’t risk placing a call now to Torchwood Hub. Instead, he dropped his eyes and only watched from the safety of his phone screen as it recorded.

The weevils were sniffing the air, surrounding the women, who still just stood there, dazed. “No, no, no, no,” Ianto whispered, letting his eyes unfocus, and looking up at the purple flowers hanging around him from the potato bushes. 

Alone, he wasn’t prepared for a confrontation. He could barely keep his breath steady. He longed for Jack’s steady hand on a gun beside him, ready to shove his way through the door and take control.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack struggles to get Ianto off the hook, but the police aren't being agreeable.

Hours later, Jack found himself sitting in a plastic chair in the station and worrying a styrofoam cup of coffee. The walls were grey; the light was dim. The coffee was stale and cold, yet he had no intention of putting it down. It was something he could do with his hands besides throttle every last member of the Cardiff police force. 

The commissioner had brushed him off hours ago to Detective Swanson, who was now talking down at him, perched on her desk while he sat in her chair. He wondered if she’d been assigned to the case or just assigned to distract him from it. 

“Harkness, you know Welk was a public figure,” she repeated, as if relying on every last gram of her patience. “Some might call him a pillar of the community. There’ll be uproar if we just let Jones walk. This is our jurisdiction, not Torchwood.”

“There’s already publicity.” Jack shrugged. “I’ll build a cover story. It will blow over like all our cases. It’s what Torchwood does.”

“You say that like you’re proud, Captain,” Swanson sighed. “Witnesses heard Welk harassing Jones, before the bullets were fired. That’s not Torchwood business, that’s a personal vendetta. That’s motive.”

“Ianto was researching Welk under my orders,” Jack insisted. “We answer to the Home Office of the United Kingdom, not you. Your witnesses can’t even agree what they saw.” 

Swanson sighed and stood. “I wouldn’t go around saying this was your order too loudly, unless you want to be down in that cell, too, Captain.” 

She stood and started to walk away, but Jack followed. With a huff, Swanson stopped and called to the general room, “Somebody get this man a fresh coffee.”

“Just let me talk to him.” Jack hated pleading, but that was what it had come to. 

She turned back to him, one hand on her hip. “Harkness, let’s be honest. We both know the ugly words that Welk threw around. I can’t trust your opinion on this one, I’m sorry.”

“That’s got nothing to do with—"

“You can see your partner after our officers question him, Jack.” Her tone was firm but there was a kind of sympathy in it.

Jack swallowed. He watched her walk away, knowing there was no use following her. It was too late at night now to call in anyone from Whitehall or Downing Street, and anyway, he’d much rather resolve this without the government. 

And so Jack fumed and waited, and argued and fumed, and peeled the paper slowly off the fresh cup of coffee that a sympathetic police constable handed him. 

\-------------

When he’d captured enough on his mobile to damn Welk and the lot of them, Ianto wiped the wetness from his eyes and beat a careful exit through the garden. He had to clear his head, and he let his feet guide him. Once he’d put some distance between himself and Welk’s house, he tried to call Jack, but he heard hard-soled loafers behind him before the line connected. 

“Ianto Jones?” 

He turned around, slamming his mobile shut again. Welk stood there in a cheap suit tailored to fit his beer belly, and the smoke from his cigarette rose under the lamp light. 

“You Torchwood lot,” Welk threw down the fag as he approached, stomping it out with his foot, “you smell like the weevils, like the sewers. I could smell you right through the window-pane.” 

“Where—how did you get the weevils?” Ianto demanded, trying to stay calm. He’d learned a thing or two about playing cool, around Jack Harkness. 

“We made them,” Welk cocked his head. “Trying to breed a new race of people, in God’s image. It’s not easy work.”

“What do you mean, you made them?”

“We bred them. We got them wrong the first time, the way God got you lot wrong. But we’re going to fix what we’ve done.”

“Like stray cats— _you_ should be fixed,” Ianto shot back, once again pressing speed dial on his mobile. He needed backup, stat. 

But the phone was dead. And Welk came forward, pushing the phone out of his hands, and there was the flash of a knife. Ianto had no thought and no choice but to pull his gun and defend himself. But it wasn't the stun-gun in his hand.

\--------------------

In prison, reliving the nightmare of the afternoon, Ianto’s body ached. He waited. Kept quiet. Expected Jack to swagger in and cast a flirty grin at the guard, who would open the gate. Then he’d be able to stretch his legs. He’d walk out the doors, Torchwood’s Captain at his side. 

But the night wore on in the haze of fluorescent lighting, with the coughs and snores and shuffling feet around him. Ianto fell into more sick dreams. He’d crawled in bed beside Jack, who smelled of sex—which somehow smelled like urine and sweat. Then Welk was in their bed too, in a hideous alien form, all leathery skin and slime. He smelled like the iron of fresh blood and with a sound like a squelchy fart, melted into a wet puddle.

Ianto woke up, woozy, sitting against the wall in his cot in the holding cell. Someone had vomited, and the cells reeked, and Ianto had dreamed of the stink around him. 

He clutched his knees and made himself stay awake, pressed against the cold concrete at his back. The hours wore by. Unbidden, his father’s voice was preaching the sins of the flesh. 

Now, even his lover and his Captain didn’t want him. Torchwood was supposed to be beyond the police, but Harkness hadn’t even stopped by his cell to get a statement. Jack was letting him stew here, caged like a weevil—but why?

\-------------------- 

The motor hummed in the Torchwood SUV. Jack fidgeted his thumb over the clutch for approximately one hour fifteen minutes, before Ianto finally emerged from the police station the following morning. The crowd yelled and the SUV rocked occasionally with the impact of eggs and tomatoes scratching its sides. Someone dragged keys across the back of the car. Its Captain squashed down his own rising anxiety and the urge to get out and show them what happens if you threaten Torchwood.

There were friendly faces in the crowd, too. Rainbow flags. Supporters. Glitterati. Jack watched two blokes kissing and women holding hands, and saw glitter thrown. He recognized that kernel that would become 51st century ethics, the seed of humor and love that humanity would grow into. Meanwhile, he made a few mental notes: 1) To research why Welk was so beloved by the idiotic populace, 2) to find an excellent auto detailer, and 3) to give his team explicit orders never to conduct Torchwood business publicly, at least insofar as it involved shooting people in broad daylight. 

The third item might have to wait. Owen was at the Hub recording and observing the weevils, who’d turned restless and vocal since Welk’s body went cold. Gwen and Tosh were on the trail of Welk’s associates.

Jack himself had been at the police station all night and was jonesing for a shower and a nap. When Ianto stepped through the double doors, Jack breathed a sigh of relief.

Ianto stiffened, catching sight of the crowd, and they saw him just a moment later. Boos and shouts rose up with a general call of “Queer!” and “Murderer!” But there were a few isolated calls of “Hero!” too. Ianto hurried down the steps, and the crowd rushed him with cameras and microphones in his face. He slammed the car door and reached for the seat belt. Underneath his blank expression, Ianto looked terrified. 

“Morning, beautiful,” Jack said, but there was barely a blink in reply. Jack pulled the SUV into gear and started easing forward, trying to escape the madness as quickly as possible. Belatedly, a few officers rushed in to prevent the public from getting themselves run over as they tried to block the SUV. 

“When did they let the beasts out of the zoo?” asked Ianto.

“When they smelled blood, they followed.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ianto’s quick, hurt expression. 

“Jack, am I free on Torchwood authorization? Or did you bail me out?” Ianto was looking at him now, trying to suss out their situation. 

But Jack wasn’t ready to explain. “They said Welk was taunting you, and you rose to the bait,” he said. “What happened?”

The crowd was finally thinning. Police watched from a distance, and cameras flashed, but the light turned green. Toshiko was clearing traffic from the Hub. 

“I staked out Welk’s house,” Ianto said, fidgeting with his phone in his lap. “It’s all here on my mobile.” 

“Next time,” Jack told him, “you call for backup. It should have been Owen in there. Or Gwen. Even Tosh. Not you.” 

“I’ll do the research, sir. We’ll work this out.”

“No. You won’t,” Jack tried to keep his voice firm. “I’m taking you home. You’re too close to this.” He reached out a hand to Ianto’s knee. “Rest up. Alphabetize your music collection or something.” 

Ianto gaped back at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“Assume they’ve bugged your flat, and don’t say anything,” Jack instructed. 

Ianto turned to face the window. “So, I’m to go before trial then?”

“Cardiff Crown Court,” Jack nodded. Slowly, he drove the side streets. The neighborhood was quiet and so was Ianto now, watching the roads as they turned and turned again. When Jack pulled the SUV to the curb, he noted three dark sedans parked along the block, plainclothes police. 

“You’re exhausted, too.” Ianto looked at him. “Come in with me. I’ll tell you what I saw.” 

“I’m fine.” Jack squeezed Ianto’s thigh, then removed his hand. He wished he could go in, wash Ianto down, and take him to bed. Just an hour alone, forgetting everything, would be good for them both. But there was work still to do, and it wouldn’t do to flaunt their relationship just now in front of police. 

“Your mobile.” Jack held out his hand until Ianto passed him the phone. “Get some rest, and let this blow over.” 

“The winds of change won’t help solve the case, sir,” Ianto said, unbuckling the seat belt. 

“I’ll call you,” Jack said, wishing there was another way.

Ianto hesitated just a moment longer, before he gave in and got out. He fumbled with the key in the front door. Jack waited until he was safe inside, then waved at the cop cars before driving on to the Hub. The men watched but did not wave back. Around the corner, Jack pulled out his phone and started dialing. He wasn’t ready to call the government in yet—he didn’t want to ask for official backup unless it was the only way. 

But there was someone he’d been meaning to call. “Edwin Clarke. How’s it hanging?”

“Harkness?” Edwin’s voice had aged, but by the bright tone, he seemed pleased. “It’s been a while.”

“Listen, Ed.” Jack hadn’t the heart to make polite conversation, and it didn’t seem right just now. He knew his voice sounded almost as tired as he felt.

“That was you on the news, wasn’t it? Torchwood. Ianto Jones. Did he do it, Jack?”

And that was Edwin all over: he had the uncanny ability to foresee what Jack was thinking about, and cut right to the heart of the question. Jack needed him now for that insight, as much as for any help he could offer. “Not that simple. Ed, I’m calling in a favor.”

“It never is. Just tell me what I can do.”

“Can you pull strings? I want it over this afternoon.”

Over the line, Jack could hear a sharp breath. “I’m just a lawyer, Jack. I’m not above the law any longer. That’s Torchwood’s domain.”

He could picture the soft wrinkles around Ed’s eyes, the rebuke in them as well as the slight twinkle. Jack bit his tongue on the curses. “Ed, I’ve been meaning to call. I really have. Can I see you tonight?”

“You only ever have to ask, Captain.”

He’d missed that voice. “Nineteen hundred hours. You know where.” Jack’s own vocal chords threatened to wobble and collapse, so he disconnected the call.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack tries to begin solving the case, while Ianto realizes he's on house arrest.

Captain Harkness felt three pairs of eyes watching him as he strolled into the Hub, but Toshiko spoke first. “Jack! Is he all right?”

“Everyone’s fine,” Jack answered. He held up Ianto’s mobile. “And we have footage of what Welk was up to. All of you, in the board room.” 

Sometimes it was easier to gloss over the hellos and start with the orders. “Tosh, bring your laptop. Let’s see what Ianto saw yesterday, before his showdown with Winchester Welk.”

Gwen held out a paper cup as they walked upstairs. “Thought you might need a coffee.”

“You’re an angel,” Jack told her.

“Don’t thank me yet.” 

“It’s that bad, is it?” Jack looked into the black, shining liquid, warm in his hand. 

“Only compared to Ianto’s,” Tosh answered, dropping her own cup in the trash.

Jack grimaced and took a sip anyway, the bitter-burnt coffee prickling his tongue with welcome heat. He set the cup on the table and helped Tosh hook up the audio and projector controls.

“So what’s Tea Boy’s excuse, Jack?” Owen settled in a chair and put his feet up on the table, acting bored as ever. 

Sometimes his boredom was reassuring. Jack shook his head. “Not sure yet. You saw Welk yesterday, too. Anything you can tell us?”

“I didn’t talk to the chap, and Ianto doesn’t share much.” 

“I wonder why,” Gwen said, next to him. 

Jack loaded the video with the right time stamp, 7:24 pm the previous day. “Ianto’s footage from outside Welk’s mansion, about a mile from the murder scene. He filmed this, then walked away. Welk followed and well, you know the rest. Boom. Police.” 

Gwen’s voice was full of sympathy. “Where is he now?”

“He’s on house arrest, pending trial.” He swallowed. “You know what that means.”

“No decent coffee for a few weeks?” Owen said. 

“But Cardiff police can’t deny your authorization!” Gwen protested. “That’s treason.”

“I’m working on it,” Jack shushed her. “Meanwhile, we need to learn everything we can on Welk’s angle with the weevils. Starting here.”

He pressed play and dimmed the lights. For a few minutes, they weren’t sure what they were seeing. They were looking through a window into a house, framed by foliage. Inside were swank couches, large paintings on the walls, and figures stood around the room in boxy suits. 

“Can you get sound?” Jack leaned over, watching Tosh’s screen. 

“If I apply Torchwood audio amplification and dampen the static.” She stopped the video and made adjustments, and they silently watched the progress bar on screen. Tosh said, “If this works, we should be able to hear better than Ianto could have done.”

She started the video over. “For I say to you," the voice was tinny, “we will triumph with the Lord. Yes, we have made mistakes, and created this race afflicted with violence and suffering, these weevils—"

There was static, and Toshiko made another adjustment. The man continued, “But with our faith, the Lord will turn our mistakes into our triumphs. Yes, he has shown us the path to create a new union of man and God! Just one more step in the genetic chain, and this new race of man will purge our country of sinners.” 

Another man spoke—“May they serve us and praise us. Amen.” 

“Amen. Let the games begin!” 

The men drank from their wine goblets, and then women were led in the room. Then the figures retreated to the edges of the room, and into the balcony, leaving the women standing there. All Torchwood could hear were the gutteral noises of the weevils as they descended on the women.

“Are they eating them?” Owen asked, no longer sounding quite so bored, as he leaned forward over the table. “Bloody disgusting.”

“No,” Jack answered. 

There were no screams of fear, no moans of pleasure—just a horrible silence and the weevils grunting and growling above the women.

“God, no, it’s worse,” Gwen said, her voice dull. “They must be drugged.”

“I can’t look,” Tosh turned away. 

Jack put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay.” The file played out and the team sat there, stunned. Jack took a breath. “They’re stealing women to impregnate them.”

“That’s just sick,” Owen finally said. 

“What would happen,” Gwen asked, “if weevils bred with humans? If they use these women as surrogates?”

“It sounds like they’ve tried it before,” Jack said. “Owen, run some tests. Find out if human-weevil DNA are compatible, and what would a hybrid look like?”

Owen stood up. “One Frankenweevil genome, coming right up. You know that takes months, right?” 

“Toshiko,” continued Jack. “See if you can get any closer view on this video. We need to ID everyone in that room.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Please.”

Tosh nodded. “It’s the only way we’ll catch them.”

“And I’ll do a search for missing persons,” Gwen volunteered. “Missing women around child-bearing age, maybe 18 to 30.”

“Good thinking.” Jack’s phone rang then, and it was Ianto’s land line. “I need to take this,” he announced. He walked out of the room, then flipped open the phone and answered as if he didn't know who was on the line, buying time to get to his office. “Captain Jack Harkness.” 

“Jack,” Ianto’s voice wavered on the other end. “I went for a walk, and the police said I’m not to leave the building. What the fuck? Sir?”

\--------------------

The hours in prison had worn by for Ianto in slow motion. Voices called out, and the guards changed shifts. One spat in his cell. Ianto watched the flecks of white turn to a puddle of slime and glide down the concrete. He didn’t let himself tune out.

Finally, they opened the gates to his cell and led him down a bleached-bare hallway. There was a window to another room. A bored clerk handed Ianto back his clothes. He changed, feeling his limbs tight and sore from too many hours of sitting still. 

A guard led him to the hall. “Torchwood's waiting outside to collect you.” 

Ianto nodded, and then he was on his own. Through the glass doors, he could see the SUV idling by the curb, surrounded by a crowd. There were Welk’s faithful, holding signs and their typical hatred. They shouted at him, but he focused only on the cool, shining black of the car. Jack was inside. Only that mattered. Jack’s thick broad fingers were gripping the clutch, and the familiar grey of his coat covered his shoulders like armor. Ianto was grateful. 

“Hey beautiful,” he heard the strain and the affection in Jack’s voice, but then the Captain barely looked at him. 

Too quickly, he was home, wondering what he’d missed, and what Jack wasn’t saying. Even his hot shower couldn’t wash away the churning in Ianto’s stomach and the ache in his back from the long night leaning on concrete. 

Though exhausted, he didn’t try sleeping. He couldn’t risk the nightmares, or that the whole day might pass and he’d wake up in prison again. Instead, he put on clean clothes and shoes and took the long staircase down to the ground floor. He hoped to clear his head before the clouds rolled in with the next drizzle. As he stepped out to the cool, fresh air, the knots in his shoulders began to relent and loosen. 

Then the hard slam of car doors and static from walkie-talkies interrupted his calm. “Ianto Jones?” There were policemen he recognized standing in front of his door. 

“Sorry, what?” He’d walked by them at crime scene, but now they were escorting him back in the house.

“You’re not to leave the premises,” they told him. “Unless you want to go back to prison. We’re parked right outside here.”

So, Jack had arranged just enough liberty for Ianto Jones to stay confined in his own flat. Inside, he stared at his kitchen counter, a stack of bills, and his keys. He’d given his mobile away. Thank God the landlord insisted he pay for a landline, so he could call Harkness.

\--------------------

“Ianto, what happened?” Jack stalled on the phone. He’d known this call was coming but didn’t want to answer Ianto’s questions on the other end. 

“I was detained outside my flat. Apparently with your blessing. Sir.” The honorific was just another barb in Ianto’s voice. Jack tried to keep calm. Ianto had every right to be angry, but it wouldn’t help. 

“I told you not to go outside,” Jack answered, finally making it to his office. “Listen. You’re on house arrest pending trial. All you have to do is stay put. Enjoy the vacation.”

“What happened to, ‘outside the government, beyond the police’?” 

Jack shook his head. He wasn’t sure himself. “I’m making calls. I’ll stop by tomorrow night.” 

“I’m stuck here till tomorrow night?” In the calm vowels of Ianto’s voice, Jack could hear his panic.

“If you need supplies, I can send Gwen over with a pizza. Or soap,” Jack offered.

“Gwen lives on the other side of town—“

“Or Owen can stop by—“ 

“You know I’ve got soap. And canned soup. It’s not that.”

“Then I’ll come by tomorrow night. All right?” 

“No,” Ianto said, “it’s not bloody all right.” 

Jack squeezed his eyes shut. “Miss me, do you?” 

“Jack—”

“I’m doing what I can. Believe me, Ianto. All you have to do is get some rest and trust me.” He ended the call before Ianto could say anything more and resisted the urge to kick a table leg. 

In the Hub, Gwen and Owen were at their workstations, pretending to look busy. 

“He’s not taking it well, is he?” Gwen asked, looking over as Jack walked out. 

“Would you?” Jack leaned on her desk. 

Owen was at the other workstation, shaking his head. “Trust Tea Boy to shoot someone,” he said, “and screw everything up.”

“At least we know guns can kill these guys,” Jack pointed out. 

“Right, at least they’re not superhuman aliens,” Owen answered. “Instead, we have a political mess.”

“When I need your commentary,” said Jack, his voice rising, “I’ll ask for it. Now get to work.” Jack felt them both watching him from the corner of their eyes, as he turned back into his office and slammed the door.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Ianto is stuck at home, the Torchwood team gets to work and the rest of the city talks about the case.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't know much about guns, sorry if things are unrealistic, let me know.

Ianto took advantage of his empty time at home by turning on the news and running some laundry. He’d only really felt at home here since Jack had been staying with him. The pantry was still barely stocked with food. He wasn’t hungry anyway, so he settled on the couch with the box of crackers, hoping they might settle his guts. 

His own face was plastered on the television, along with cameras panning across the crowds that showed up to mourn Welk and to protest. Their posters were still full of propaganda. The world was ugly sometimes, aliens or no. No wonder Jack Harkness hid in his stuffy bunker below ground. 

Ianto opened his windows to the grey and brown walls outside his own flat and aired out the rooms. To him, the smell of the gay was just this—stale air, with a faint whiff of Jack’s pheremones and the residue of sweat in the sheets. It was pleasant, and it was home, and Ianto blew it all away with a big box fan in the window and his unscented laundry soap. 

A few hours went by and his house was spare and clean, for when Jack came to visit tomorrow night. He settled on the bed and shut off the fan, then peered out at the police cars parked outside. 

Torchwood would have watched his footage by now—maybe Tosh’s software had identified names, faces, ranks. Jack and Gwen would hunt down the perpetrators. Ianto wished he were working beside them. But his pillow still smelled like Jack bloody Harkness, and he wished he’d thrown the bed sheets in the wash, too. 

\----------

“Do you think there’s anything we can do for him?” Tosh asked, leaning on the railing above Owen’s medical room. 

“I reckon not,” Owen said, without looking up. “Tea Boy’s got it easy. A day to rest. When do we ever get that?”

“I don’t think he’s resting,” Tosh answered, a hint of reproach in her voice. 

“When do we ever do what’s good for us?” Owen squinted at his computer, then huffed and turned away. “This is bloody impossible, Tosh. It could take months or years to map a hybrid genome of weevil and human DNA.”

“No, it won’t,” Tosh countered. She smiled and walked down the steps toward him. 

Here they were, mixed up in another mess with the police and aliens, and Tosh looked like she was about to start flirting with him. Owen waved her away from the table. “Don’t touch anything.” 

He’d set up samples of the weevil and human blood, brewing in the Petri dishes and hooked up to the machines for analysis. One little knock or shake, and they would have to restart the whole thing.

But Tosh put her hands on her hips, her sweetness curdling. “I’m here to help you, Owen,” she said firmly, as if he should know better. “In fact, you should be able to run not just a map of the landmark base pairs, but the full genome sequence.”

“And how do you intend to do that?” Owen asked.

She side-stepped him to work at the machine. “A few weeks ago, remember, that medical ship came through the Rift, and we salvaged a few parts? I managed to hack its systems, and—“ she smiled, typing in a string of characters in a command line—“I thought ours could use a few upgrades.”

“Really, Tosh.” Owen said, watching her type. “Now’s not the time to run a security patch.” 

“Now’s exactly the time,” she answered, contradicting him like a school teacher. Her fingers flew across the keys, and when she restarted the software, new toolbars appeared. “You just go to this panel, and select this, and here—” 

He tuned her out again as she nattered on, instead watching the screen. Tables loaded, flowing with computer code. She loaded the data from his blood samples, and set them to work. The proteins were layering and merging as they paired, coming together in a way that Owen hadn’t believed possible. It would take a team of scientists years to do this, to weave these proteins together into new strands, forming new DNA spirals and synthesizing a genome. 

“That’s… beautiful,” he finally admitted. “You are bloody brilliant. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise, Tosh.”

She smiled, suddenly shy. “Thanks. Really, it was nothing.”

“Bullshit, Tosh.” He turned toward her, “I could bloody well kiss you.” 

“Really?” Tosh tilted her head, a twinkle in her eye. “Well, don’t let me stop you then.”

“Yes, well, perhaps we’d best not—oh, hell.” Owen realized he’d painted himself into a corner. He leaned forward, his hands gathering her small shoulders closer, and pressed a kiss to her lips. 

She smelled a little like baby powder, and some vanilla perfume. It had been a long time since he kissed someone who wasn’t drenched in floral scents or the cigarette-and-liquor smell of a bar. Her smell wasn’t arousing, exactly, but it was pleasant, and refreshing. 

She was blushing like mad, and they giggled together, awkwardly. “There you go, then,” he said. “Just don’t expect that all the time.” 

“Well, don’t expect magic software updates all the time,” Tosh shook her head. 

“How’s it going, kids?” They heard the Captain’s voice booming from above them, then. “Am I interrupting something?”

Tosh shook her head, jumping away from Owen. “We were just running some upgrades.”

“So that’s what they’re calling it these days,” Jack said, walking down the stairs. He peered over their shoulders at the screen. “So the menu of the day looks like alphabet soup.”

“Yes, well,” Owen answered. “Good news, it’s matching base pairs. I’m guessing we’ll have this complete in two hours.”

“And the bad news?” Jack asked.

“The bad news is,” Tosh said, “It is pairing the genomes.”

“We won’t know for sure till it’s complete,” Owen added, “But my guess is, they’re compatible, Jack.” 

“That’s what we suspected,” Jack said. “Next question, what is this hybrid going to look like?”

He sighed and turned around, and Owen and Tosh shared a look as they listened to his heavy steps on the stairs. Once he was out of earshot, Owen added, “More importantly, how do we stop them?” 

“That’s what Gwen and I are working on,” Tosh said, and she turned to go back up stairs to the Hub. 

“Good luck, Tosh,” Owen called over his shoulder.

\----------

 

“Would you pass the asparagus?” 

Across the light tablecloth, the plate of buttery green stalks made its way through a few pairs of hands before landing beside Selena Garcia. She was starving. She’d stayed late at the clinic, until everyone else had left for the evening, to finish some paperwork—and to sneak a bottle of pills into her purse.

She hadn’t even planned to join the party tonight, but her sister Maria had called late yesterday in tears. She was three weeks late, and the over-the-counter test had confirmed she was pregnant. She couldn’t see a doctor, and she’d only been dating this bloke two months, and there was no way she could keep a baby right now.

So Selena, with her voice of reason, and her bottle of pills, came to the rescue. She’d calmed Maria down and given her the mifepristone, the abortion pill, before dinner. And that meant braving the party, too. 

Selena spooned some of the green stalks on her plate and glanced across the table. Maria had hidden herself behind concealer and eye shadow, and they were both trying to wear pleasant faces and pretend everything was normal. Selena wondered if Maria had even told her bloke about it.

But if Maria and Selena weren’t keeping up the conversation, at least the guests were happy to chatter away. Tony beside her was wittering on about the news. “Did you all hear that story today—Winchester Welk attacks some bloke in the street and gets gunned down?” The fellow took a bite of his steak as a general murmur went around the table.

“That’s right. Bloody awful,” said Maria’s bloke across the table, Sean, his name was. “And the poor sod who shot him’s in custody.”

“Should give that bloke a medal!” Tony said.

Selena watched her sister push food around her plate, not eating. Maria would feel worse tomorrow as the hormones kicked in. But maybe it was better that Selena hadn’t warned her about side effects.

“The way the media has it,” said Dierdre, “the fellow was looking for an excuse to shoot. He’s part of some elite police force that thinks it’s above the law.”

“That’s Torchwood, you mean,” said another. “Welk must be part of some conspiracy, you know?”

“What’s Torchwood?”

“Body snatchers, I reckon. People go missing, and Torchwood’s bound to be mixed up in it.”

“Really?” Selena cleared her throat and tried to do her part for the conversation. “Mama and Papa moved us out here when our aunt and uncle went missing on holiday, years ago.” 

“Missing? Really?” said Sean.

“It could have just been a car accident,” Selena shrugged. “But nothing was ever found. So we picked up from Madrid and moved to Cardiff. Then Mama found work, and we went to school.”

“Papa always said they were kidnapped or involved with something, but never said what,” Maria spoke up. “No luggage, no bodies, nothing.”

“Cardiff’s got to be haunted,” Tony said. “We get strange animals running through, but the police try to cover it up. Torchwood must be running experiments.”

“Do they cause all those alien sightings about Christmas time, do you reckon?” Deirdre asked. 

“Oh, who knows,” Maria said, sounding irritated. She stood and started gathering plates. “Better than believing in aliens, isn’t it?”

“Well, who’s for a bit of telly?” Sean stood up and everyone followed into the other room. 

Selena stayed behind to help her sister with the dishes, but Maria shooed her away. “Go with the others,” she said, “You’ve done enough tonight for us, Lena. Thanks.”

Selena squeezed her sister in a quick hug and obeyed. 

\----------

Darkness fell over the flats of Cardiff with a haze of fog and that wet salt smell. Ianto’s windows were long shut, but he felt the sea around him, and his thoughts were sailboats in a storm. It was no use thinking how Jack could soothe the sickness in his mind with just a stern glance. His thoughts coalesced, clear as the condensation on the window panes: Ianto Jones was on his own; no one to help him now. He had to escape the captivity of his thoughts and his flat. 

He pushed Jack’s pillow aside, and slid off the bed. He felt around in the back of his dresser, feeling the soft grain of the wood against his fingers, till they met the box hidden there. Ianto pulled out the case, clicked it open, and traced his fingers along the cold steel. 

He was still sitting in the darkness, so even if a camera was planted in his room, the cops wouldn’t be able to see him load the gun and lift it. He paused with the weight of it in his hands. He thought of the power in the recoil and the bloodstains that had grown over Welk’s chest yesterday, as the body rocked with the impact and fell to the pavement. 

Ianto had seen death before, too many times, but rarely from his own bullet. Because ultimately, he was a coward. He wondered how Torchwood might have been different if things had ended at Canary Wharf, as they should have. If he’d never returned to Cardiff, had never helped Jack wrestle a pterodactyl to the floor. Too late, though--he was here, and he’d made too many mistakes this time. 

Jack was a soldier first, and no doubt, he’d shoot Ianto down if he felt his territory threatened—or maybe if he was feeling merciful, he’d wipe Ianto’s memories clean and let him go. 

The gun would be cold inside his mouth and not quite the size of Jack’s cock. And if there was a gunshot from his building, would the police outside come running? Would Jack come before tomorrow night?

\----------

“Jack, you’ve been swaggering around Cardiff for enough years,” said Edwin Clarke, lounging back on the Hub’s old sofa, “The police have taken for granted that Torchwood has every right. Maybe they’re just fed up.” 

In the dim, empty Hub, Jack handed his old friend a glass of wine. “We answer to the Home Office, not the Cardiff police.” 

Ed nodded, and his voice was full of amusement. “Jack Harkness has a higher authority?” 

“They sign our paychecks.” Jack swirled around the red wine in his glass, then shrugged. “And they call when they need answers.”

“Right,” Ed said, sipping from his glass. “You’re outside the system, Jack, which means you have no clear backup. If the government starts questioning you too, you’re on tenuous ground. Who’s coming down to defend Jones in court?”

“There’s no reason for this to go to court.” Jack shook his head. “I want Ianto’s police stalkers gone, and this whole incident erased from public record. By tomorrow.”

“A tall order.” Ed took another sip and put his glass down. “Jack, I’ve known you forty years, and we haven’t talked in what? A year? Three? Five?” 

“You know Torchwood,” Jack frowned. “It’s been busy.”

“Why now, is all?” Ed asked. “I’m just a lawyer. You have more powerful friends, I’m sure? Whitehall, Downing Street. The Home Office?”

“I need people I can trust,” Jack said. “I don’t want to invite anyone from the government to start issuing orders to Torchwood.” 

“So they’re your enemies as well as allies,” Edwin nodded.

“Now you know my biggest secret, I think,” Jack let his hand brush his friend’s wrinkled knuckles, recognizing a familiar mole along the wrist that he’d long forgotten.

“Too bad,” Ed eyed Jack’s gesture. “I was hoping it was juicier than that.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Jack grinned at their familiar flirtation, but withdrew his hand. 

“I’ll call around Cardiff,” Ed said finally. “A word here or there, a private meeting could set something in motion. And you remember my son, William, in government these days? He’s in close with Frobisher, I reckon. Maybe you won’t need to bend the Secretary’s ear to beg a favor.” 

Jack nodded. “I owe you one, Edwin.” This time he did reach out and squeeze Ed’s knee.

“All right, Jack.” Ed set the glass down and looked him in the eye. His pat on Jack’s hand was like an uncle’s. His gold wedding band reflected the light. “I’ll ask this as an old friend—are you fighting for Jones on behalf of Torchwood, or for personal reasons?”

Jack looked around the Hub. “He’s on my team.”

“Ever the soldier, Captain? They’re all your mates and your charges,” Ed said with a bit of a laugh. Then he leaned in closer. “But Jack—are you sleeping with him?” 

“It’s not relevant.” Jack let his fingers brush Ed’s, and looked around again. But Ed knew him too well, and finally he capitulated. “Yes.”

Edwin nodded. “Listen,” he said gently. “Don’t show the media or the police. Take away the gay agenda, and the fire in this story goes out.”

“I was a con man for forty years,” Jack looked him in the eye. “I can play it subtle.”

Just then, the room clattered with the machinery of the invisible lift. Jack grabbed the gun from the table and jumped to his feet. Who could be invading the Hub, now, at night? The lift descended, holding a slouching figure, and Jack aimed his gun upward. "Who's there?" he called. 

He felt Edwin right beside him, tensed for a fight. Ever the soldiers, indeed.


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ianto needs to find Jack and sort out his fears. Meanwhile, Jack's got a visitor.

Torchwood was all the telly had to show tonight. Maria’s party sat watching footage of one Ianto Jones being set free earlier that day. Reporters zoomed in on the black van that had waited to pick Jones up, surrounded by a throng of protesters. In a sea of hateful signs, the car floated with tinted windows, like some shady American CIA organization. Watching the footage, Selena wasn’t sure she trusted this Torchwood any more than she liked Welk. 

In the end, though, this was just idle news, and she didn’t much care. Time to go home, pick up a novel, and forget about politics for the evening. Her sister hugged her good night, and her friend Jimmy rushed to grab her coat. “Can I walk you to your car?” he offered.

She agreed. Down on the sidewalk, dim light cast shadows and shone off the damp streets. Jimmy grabbed Selena up in a hug, and she thought he might try to kiss her. For a moment, she thought she might let him.

“Your sister doing all right?” he asked instead. “She looked, well, not herself.” 

“She’ll be fine,” Selena reassured him. “Just, give her a call tomorrow, maybe? Cheer her up?”

“I’ll do that,” he agreed. “See you soon, I hope?”

“I’m sure,” she nodded. “And Jimmy? Thanks for looking after Maria.”

“Of course. G’night, Lena.” He squeezed her shoulder and turned around.

From inside the car, she watched him disappear back inside. Then with a sigh, she turned the key in the ignition. Finally the day was over and she could go home, immerse herself in a hot bath a while, and then go to sleep. 

The voice behind her was deep and startling and completely Welsh. “Pull the car out and turn right up ahead.”

“Shit!” Adrenalin pounded in her ears as she realized she wasn’t alone. Selena looked into the rearview mirror and saw the bloke from the telly, holding a gun. 

“Oh my god, don’t shoot.” Before she could think, Selena was begging for her life. She looked outside the car to the empty streets. There were no witnesses, and he must have known this.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” said Ianto Jones. “I need a ride. Just drive.”

“I don’t know anything,” she pleaded. “I swear. Don’t do this.” 

His hand visibly trembled on the gun. “Listen,” he said, as if it was all perfectly reasonable. “Turn right at the next street. Go.”

“All right. Okay,” Selena pulled out from her parking spot, clutching the wheel, and still breathing heavy around her own fear. 

“What’s your name?” His voice was low and husky, almost reassuring, almost friendly. 

“Martina,” she answered.

“Good, Martina,” he said. “Now turn left up here and then straight down the block. You know the Millenium Centre?”

“Of course.” Damn racist Welsh, she thought, expecting everyone with a foreign accent to be a tourist. 

“Drive there. Out toward the Plass.”

Selena found her nerve somewhere as they rolled through side streets. “I have a daughter. She’s only seven,” she told Ianto. You were supposed to talk to thieves, right? Make them realize you were human? “She’s with her aunt tonight, but there’s only me. Her father’s gone. I’m all she has.”

Ianto cleared his throat. “You’ll see your daughter again.” 

His reassurance gave her more courage. She dared look in the rear view mirror at him. “I saw you on the news. I should turn you in.” She took in his short hair, tall forehead, narrow and puffy eyes. A bruise on his cheek from a fistfight. 

“You can drive, or you can get out and let me take the car,” Ianto told her, raising his arm again behind her. 

Selena felt the cold metal as he pressed the gun against her neck. She shrieked and slammed on the brakes. “Please, no. Please.” The car lurched to a halt in the middle of the street.

He pulled the gun away, but his voice was still hard. “You saw the news. It’s not safe for me out there. Just drive, and then you can go home to your daughter.”

She let the car roll forward again, but now she just felt angry. She kept talking. “Flora. Her name’s Flora. It means flower. You didn’t ask.” 

Her panic nearly went unheard in Ianto’s spinning brain. The universe was out of balance, but he needed this one thing. He needed to get to Jack. Everything else was in his way right now, and he wasn’t sure what he might do to himself or this girl. 

He looked down at his shaking hands. The gun barrel glinted yellow in the sodium streetlights. The trigger was warm under his palm, but otherwise it was still cool. It would only take a moment, and he could know what Jack felt every time he died. 

Ianto looked up ahead, as the woman drove. When had he started considering suicide? Was it just today or had it been in his mind for months? 

She drove forward, still terrified. “Good. It’s all going to be fine, Martina,” Ianto murmured reassurances to them both. Jack would set him right again. 

\--------------------

On the porch outside Ianto’s flat, Tosh and Gwen stood shoulder to shoulder, looking at each other and the door. They’d rung the bell a few times. No answer. The lights were off.

“He’s probably sleeping,” said Tosh. 

“Or drunk off his gourd.” Gwen peered over at the police who were watching them. She’d been off the force over a year now, and she didn’t know these blokes well. It wasn’t worth trying to distract them to break in and check on Ianto, and he might not appreciate the gesture anyway. 

“We’ll come back later, or first thing in the morning,” Tosh suggested, taking her arm. “Come on, I’m starving.”

Gwen nodded, reluctantly turning away. “All right, let’s go meet Owen.” 

So off toward the pub they headed. Jack had kicked them out of the Hub for the evening, claiming work to do and important people to meet. Gwen suspected he was sulking alone, or talking with Ianto on an encrypted line. 

“When this is over,” Gwen said, “we should all take a night out together.”

“Good idea,” Tosh agreed. “Get some beers, play pool...”

Just then a car squealed around the corner and stopped abruptly. Then it squealed away again, swerving around another corner. The headlights glanced off the buildings and disappeared. 

“The police should be chasing drunk drivers like that one,” Gwen said, “not staking out Ianto’s flat.”

“You’re right,” Tosh said. They kept walking, and she added, “We should do a girl’s night sometime.”

“Go shopping?” Gwen teased. “And out for drinks? Flirt with some handsome blokes?” 

“As long as our drinks have those umbrellas,” Tosh said. “And we could even get our nails done first.”

“Haven’t done that in ages. No point in this job.”

“We can pretend to be normal people, then. Not for long, though. It could get boring.”

“You’re absolutely right. I’d go mad,” Gwen laughed.

\--------- 

Jack readied himself for a fight, squinting up into the light of the Hub as the lift descended. “Who’s there?” he called, trying to identify the figure slouched in dark hoodie and slacks on the platform. 

He felt Ed shift on his feet. “What, that’s him there, isn’t it?” 

Jack looked at the slender figure again. It couldn’t be—“Ianto?” 

“Just me, Jack.” Ianto stumbled off the platform, holding a gun with two shaking hands. He looked dazed and blinked up at Jack with frightened eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Jack set his own firearm down, wondering how he’d snuck past the police guarding his house. 

“Neither should you,” Ianto answered—an echo of something they’d said before. His lips twitched upward, nervously.

“Were you followed?” 

“No.” Ianto was looking at Jack’s visitor, and then eyed the old wooden table that held their wine glasses and the bottle. 

“Edwin Clarke, I’ll be your attorney,” Ed reached out his hand. He was good with people, always had been. “I’m an old friend of Captain Harkness’.”

“I’ve met old friends of his before.” Ianto didn’t move to shake his hand. “Jack. My lawyer?”

“Ianto, this is Ed. He’s been my advisor a long time,” Jack reassured him. “I trust Edwin with my life.” 

“I have some contacts I can call,” Ed had dropped his hand. “Close to the Cardiff police and to the Home Secretary’s office. We’ll get this sorted, best we can.”

“Right,” Ianto frowned. He looked at the table again, reached forward as if he might put the gun down, then he pulled away. 

“Since you’re here,” Jack took a step forward to him. “Go downstairs to my bunk—get some sleep.” 

Ianto nodded. “If you think that’s best.” 

“One more thing,” Jack said, reaching out a hand. “Leave the gun.” 

Ianto looked down at his hands. Something wasn’t right with him. Jack kept talking. “I’m not going to ask why you have that, or even what you’re intending to do with it.” 

“It’s insurance.” Ianto looked up, his eyes shifting around.

“You don’t need it now, and I don’t like the way you’re holding it.” Jack stepped forward, closing the distance between them. He took the gun and passed it back to Ed, keeping hold of Ianto’s hands. 

Ianto watched Ed unload the gun and set it down, then his eyes found Jack’s again. His voice went high and wavering. “Everything’s gone to hell, Jack.” 

He swayed, and Jack reached forward and steadied his shoulders. “Whoa. You’re okay.” Jack held onto his arms. He could see the dark bruise forming on Ianto’s cheek and ran his thumb over it lightly. “I’m sorry.” 

Ianto’s face twisted, his eyes wet, and he clasped at Jack’s shirt and looked down. 

“Get some rest,” Jack urged him gently. “Let me sort this.” He pulled his fingers away from Ianto’s and stepped away. Ianto stood on his own, then nodded and turned to go. 

Jack watched him walk back to the office, then sat back heavily on the sofa. Edwin’s hand was solid and sure on his shoulder. “We’ll do proper introductions tomorrow.” 

“Yeah.” But then Jack’s phone rang, echoing up in the Hub, and he shivered. It was Detective Swanson. “Just what I need.” 

Flipping it open, he answered, “Jack Harkness.” 

Her voice was loud on the other end. 

“Yes, he’s here,” Jack confirmed. “I guess he couldn’t stay away from work—Torchwood’s a lifestyle, not just a job.” 

He nodded as she talked, and he tried to laugh. “I’ll keep him under watch.” … “Whether your officers park outside is your own business.” He flipped the phone shut and tossed it on the desk then, where it landed with a thud.

“Don’t be too cooperative,” Edwin said. 

Jack sighed and leaned back on the couch. “Let him kiss you good night, and he’ll never want you to leave.” It was an old phrase they’d shared, about compromise in battle, and about romance as well.

“Ha, the good old days,” Ed nodded. “Except they weren’t, were they? How about for old times’ sake?” 

Jack felt the man’s hand on his knee. Though the face had wrinkled and aged, the scent was still familiar. He leaned in to that welcoming smile, toward the green eyes, and they kissed. Edwin flicked out his tongue in the way that used to drive Jack mad. 

“Does your wife know you kiss men like that?” Jack asked, curling his hand around Edwin’s neck.

“Never told her,” Ed said. “She died last year. Not everyone has your stamina, Jack.” 

“Edwin, I’m sorry.” Jack squeezed the man’s shoulder and pulled away slightly.

“Heart attack—it was blessed quick.” He grimaced and shook himself. “Thirty years together. But we move on.”

“We do,” Jack agreed. He thought of Alice’s mother, Lucia, dead just a few years now. “We’ve no other choice.”

“How’s Alice?” Ed could read his mind sometimes, and maybe that’s exactly the reason Jack hadn’t called him since Lucia was gone.

“She’s—” Jack looked around for a word—“She’s headstrong.” 

“She’s your girl,” Ed nodded. 

“So, what now?” Jack asked. “What do I tell Ianto in the morning?”

“Keep him here, but don’t let the police in, Jack. I’ll make some calls.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“I’ve owed you more than my share, but I’m not making promises,” Edwin said, standing up. “Just a word of advice,” he added, as Jack stood with him, “If Ianto wants to work this case, let him.”

“A hundred years, Ed.” Jack shook his head. “Torchwood’s my life here. I can’t let anyone pull that down. It’s bigger than any one of us, and it’s on me to fix it.” 

“Jack,” Ed warned. “You can’t sacrifice him to save this place. Remember who started this. Swanson? Don’t make it Ianto’s fault.” 

Jack nodded. “I’ll feel better once we hear from the Home Office,” he said, following Ed toward the lift. 

“Something tells me you’ll outlive this place,” Ed said, looking around. “Say, you ever find your Doctor?”

Jack’s stomach filled with another kind of grief. “That’s a story for another day, I think.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Ed nodded and squeezed Jack’s shoulder. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, and then he looked out over the Hub as he ascended the lift back to the world outside.


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's called to help the team wrestle some wayward weevils in a bar.

Jack breathed a sigh into the empty Hub, sucking down the last of the wine from the bottle. He unloaded Ianto’s gun and held it hollow and empty in his hand a moment, as if it could tell him Ianto’s thoughts. Then, he locked it his desk drawer and tucked the key in a hidden pocket in his coat, where he kept the Tardis key. 

He was ready to crawl into bed, but before he could unlace his boots, the mobile rang again-- _Gwen Cooper_. Jack looked up at the ceiling, at his wits’ end. “Yes, Gwen?”

“Jack—we have weevils.” Her voice was tense, muffled with the sound of fighting in the background. 

“Damn.” 

“We need backup.”

“Okay.” Jack braced one hand on his desk.

He heard her calling orders. “Owen, behind you!” and there was the sound of someone being thrown against a wall. Her voice came back, hoarse and stressed. “When did pub fights replace quiz nights, Jack?”

“Ah,” Jack chuckled. “What’s the air speed velocity of an unladen weevil?” 

“A Winchester Welk weevil or your standard Hub variety?” 

Jack turned to grab his gear. “I want to see both in your report when this is done.” 

“Ask Toshiko. She likes puzzles,” Gwen said, then Jack heard her yelling with the phone away from her mouth: “Owen, get down!” Gunshots rang out. Into the phone, she said, “Jack, how long?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Jack promised. “Is Toshiko with you?” 

“She got sloshed before the chips came and let some bloke take her home.” 

“Good for her,” Jack said. “Keep them on the defensive. Ianto’s here, and there’s a slew of police to wade through outside.” 

“Just get here,” Gwen told him, and the line went dead. 

Jack could picture her rushing right back into battle, and he sighed. He wasn’t going to get the quiet night he was hoping for.

Down in the bunk, Ianto was curled up on the camp bed. He looked young and small in his black t-shirt and jeans. Jack perched beside him and wrapped one hand on his shoulder. “You awake?”

Ianto stirred, rolling over toward him. One arm snaked around Jack’s waist and pulled. “Come to bed.” 

“Can’t,” Jack answered. “Gwen needs backup. The pub’s come down with a case of the weevils.” 

Ianto sat up, blinking his eyes open. They were bloodshot, the lids puffy, and Jack reached out to trace his wet cheeks with a thumb. “Don’t,” he said softly, as if that ever stopped anyone from crying. He swallowed the lump in his own throat. 

“I had to get here to you,” Ianto said, his voice slurred with sleep. “The things I’ve done, Jack.” 

Jack nodded and reached down, one palm against Ianto’s stomach, tracing the line of his shirt around his waist. “Arms up,” he commanded. 

“Talking me out of my clothes again?” Ianto lifted his arms, letting Jack pull his shirt off and drop it on the floor.

“I never miss an opportunity,” Jack teased, unbuttoning Ianto’s trousers next and coaxing his hips up to shimmy off trousers, pants, and socks.

“Tell me what’s happened today.” Ianto reached to fumble with Jack’s shirt buttons, to undress him as well. 

“Not now,” Jack pulled Ianto’s wrists away, and Ianto struggled, yanking out of Jack’s grip. 

But Ianto just reached in again, pulling Jack's shirt-tails from his trousers with a noise of frustration. 

“Come here.” Jack cupped a palm around Ianto’s neck and pulled him close, pressing Ianto’s head against his shoulder in a forced embrace. Jack had to go, but he let himself linger, feeling their ribs rising and falling together as they breathed each other in. 

“Jack,” Ianto said into his shoulder. 

“I'm going to fix this.” Jack shifted his weight further onto the bed, to rest more comfortably. Again their thighs slid together, and he felt the warm press of Ianto’s cock, half hard against his thigh.

“Oh,” Jack exhaled, feeling his own body react. “Okay. All right.” He pressed his mouth into Ianto’s neck and reached a hand between them, up the wiry hair of Ianto’s thigh and inward. Ianto shuddered as Jack pressed light kisses to his temples and stroked him softly. 

"It has to be quick," Jack said, and for a few minutes, the room filled with their quickening breaths, their foreheads growing sweaty together. Ianto clutched at Jack’s shoulders, and soon he came, spilling over Jack’s hand onto his trousers. 

“Better?” Jack tucked his face down against Ianto’s scalp, smelling his shampoo.

“I guess,” Ianto lifted his head. His eyes were still wet, his cheeks mottled and red.

“Oh, hell,” Jack cursed, trying to stay calm. He kissed Ianto, pressing him back down against the bed. “Just rest.” 

Ianto ran his palms against Jack’s hips, reaching to return the favor, and it would be easy to get distracted and let him. Instead, Jack pulled away and wiped his hands off on a towel on the floor. Then, he doused the towel with a water bottle nearby and rubbed Ianto down, cleaning off the feverish sweat on his face and his stomach. 

Ianto shivered, turning his face into the pillow. “Don’t leave.”

“Weevils wait for no man.” Jack pulled the covers up around his shoulders. 

Ianto blinked up at him. “Weevils don’t need you.”

“But Gwen does,” Jack said. “I’ll be back soon. Wait for me. Please?” 

“Yeah.” Ianto’s lips ghosted with a smile. “Go get ‘em.”

\--------------------

 

Edwin Clarke scrolled through the contacts on his mobile, then threw it aside. It was too late to call anyone, especially at Whitehall—and anyway, his son had as much influence in government as a lady beetle at a picnic.

Then he thought of Tony Farthing, a paralegal in his firm who often worked late and was after his next promotion. Ed picked up the mobile again.

“Tony? Need you to do some digging on an emergency case—Winchester Welk, that’s the one. Who were his partners? What are they working on? Any dark secrets in his past?—Right. Call me back, anytime.—Thanks.”

That done, he hung up and gazed around the Plass. It was still early enough for a few stray couples to be wandering about but most everyone had gone home. Yet Ed had nowhere to be and wasn’t going to get much sleep now, with Jack on his mind. 

He’d grabbed a note off a desk when Jack wasn’t looking with an address he suspected was Welk’s residence. Clearly the Captain was hiding some things, but with Torchwood that was standard protocol. He’d be a fool to think this was an ordinary murder mystery.

Ed didn’t do detective work, not anymore and not for a long time, but tonight he drove, west past the river, and down through rows of homes, hunting down the address. A light was on in an upstairs window. Welk had never married or had children—at least, none known to the public. Likely, he lived alone, but family or friends could have come by to set the estate in order. It was a blessing Welk had no kids. All that talk about family values, from a man who hadn’t built a family? Some speculated Welk himself was gay. In Ed’s estimation, Welk was just disturbed.

Ed parked and turned off his lights, musing. All those years ago that he’d left Jack, maybe it hadn’t just been the alien threats or Jack’s dark past that sent him away. There would have been trouble ahead, if they’d tried making a life together. His contract with Torchwood was over, and he’d left those battles behind him. He’d met a girl, and so he’d married. Had a good life, good kids. He wouldn’t give that up, now. 

Still, it was hard, looking at Jack. The Captain was still the same man, handsome and strong--but he’d been living in that dank sewer all those years, and it showed. Jack loved Ianto, clear as day, but he’d forgotten how terrifying it was to be young and have blood on your hands. Ed wished there was more he could do for the two of them. Then he laughed at himself—he was no more a soldier than Ianto anymore, truth be told. He could stand in front of a jury and make arguments to win a case, sure—but if he bent the truth, he did it for his wife’s memory, and his children, for love and justice.

Jack had always been a renegade, a con, an arrogant sod is what—while Ed had just done what he had to, to get through the battles. He’d made the right choice, leaving Jack, but if he’d stayed, it wouldn’t have been the wrong choice, either. 

Lost in thought, he didn’t see the figures approaching the car. His door clicked open, confusing him for a moment. Across the barrel of a gun, Ed saw two eyes, dark and glinting in the streetlights. A low voice spoke behind them, “Torchwood sent you.”

“They didn’t,” Ed protested, but rough hands were lifting him out of the car. He caught flashes of black jackets, shiny loafers, and the seductive reek of cigarettes. 

His mind was still sharp when the men yanked a gag around his mouth, and Ed thought maybe he could be a soldier again after all. But outnumbered and unarmed, he went along quietly. As they pushed him in a waiting van, he heard his mobile ringing from the seat of his car. 

\--------------------

Gwen was out of bullets. The floor was littered with dead weevils, plus a few knocked unconscious by the more violent pub patrons and by the grace of her own fists. But there were still more, and Jack was taking his bloody time to get here. Across the room, Owen was wrestling one weevil, trying to kick another, and not taking them down fast enough. Gwen suspected he was relishing the fight a bit too much, likely to get himself injured or worse. 

Most patrons had fled or were cowering in the corners. Some were writhing on the floor—chunks of legs and arms bitten off, blood everywhere. It was like a war, this pub. A zombie infestation. Rushing another weevil, she slipped in a puddle of blood, but caught herself against the counter. Another man went down nearby with a scream, and it was just her and Owen left, against five or more weevils still on their feet. Game over. 

But before Gwen could call a retreat, another woman rushed in, brandishing a can of mace and spraying weevils in the eyes. “Brilliant,” Owen said. As the weevils flailed, blind, Owen took advantage of their disability and wrestled them to the floor. 

Gwen watched, relieved at their teamwork, until yet another weevil rushed her. She reached back with the butt of her gun and punched it in the jaw, sending it reeling. When she looked up, still panting, Owen was still fighting, but the room had emptied. The patrons were filing out, and the woman with the mace was following them. She looked behind her, beckoning to Gwen. Gwen stumbled over the lumps of weevils on the floor toward her. 

“Those three men are up to something,” the woman explained, as they rushed out the back door. She pointed to three men in dark suits, leading the way for the others. This woman’s face was scratched and bleeding, and her white blouse was stained in blood. They pushed through the door, and outside, there were the three men in suits ushering the pub patrons into a dark van. One of the men was spraying some small can of aerosol in their faces. 

“What’s that, a drug?” the woman asked.

Gwen rushed past her, straight toward the van. “Hold on! Police!” she called, but they were already inside and gunning the engine.

“Stop!” Gwen ran after the van, but it was too late. The tires screamed and swerved around the north corner.

“They didn’t all come together,” the woman said. Her voice held the hint of an accent.

Gwen whirled around and caught her by the shoulders. “Who are they?” she demanded. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” the woman answered, looking frightened. “Are you the police?”

“Not quite. We’re Torchwood,” Gwen said, letting her go. 

The woman flinched. “I bloody well should have known!” she said. “I only came here because I was right scared earlier. Bloody hell. Bloody Torchwood!”

“Bloody hell is right.” Gwen looked around her at the lot full of abandoned cars. A security camera was mounted on the corner of the building—which was good, meaning they could track the van's license plante from the Hub. For now, she’d have to follow in her car. 

Just then, headlamps flared from a vehicle pulling in the lot, and Gwen blinked in the sudden light. When her vision cleared, Jack was swaggering toward her, fully armed, ready to battle some weevils.

“I’m too late, aren’t I?” he asked, seeing her face. “What, you didn’t save any for me?”

“You took your time,” Gwen snapped. “The weevils are down, but some men just rounded up all the pub patrons and drove them off someplace. We’ve got to find them.” 

Jack looked around at the empty streets. “Did you see where they were headed?”

Gwen pointed in the direction of the van. “Down the road, toward city center.”

“Right.” Jack turned back, and looked at Gwen’s companion. “And you are?” 

“Selena Garcia.” The woman stepped forward toward them. “This has got to do with Ianto Jones, hasn’t it?”

“Selena, I’m Captain Jack Harkness." Jack leaned forward with his trademark grin—guaranteed to melt the hearts of men, women, and creatures of unknown origin and gender. 

“Bloody hell, we haven’t got time,” Gwen told him, trying to pull him away. “We’ve got to go.”

Owen stumbled out of the doors then, his face scratched and bleeding, and caught sight of Jack. “Fat lot of good you are, Captain.”

“Come on,” Jack said. “In the SUV. We’ll follow those vans.” Then he pointed to Selena. “You. Go home. We’ll sort this.”

“Right, but—”

“Thanks for your help.” Owen handed her a bottle of water. “I’m a doctor. Drink up, you’re dehydrated.” With a wink, he walked by her toward the SUV. 

“Wait.” Selena reached out toward Gwen. “The Asian woman, your friend—she left with someone, didn’t she? A man?” 

“Shit,” Gwen said, realizing she was right. “He was dressed in a dark suit like the others. Thank you!” 

“Are you coming?” Jack yelled, already standing in the open door. Owen was climbing in the back, and Gwen ran to catch up.


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ianto tries to solve the case, following his instincts in direct disobedience to Jack.

Jack and Ianto had always played games, since the first time they’d gone hunting to capture Myfanwy. They’d been dazed and aroused by the hunt ever since, it seemed—rolling over and over each other to get out of the way of the next Torchwood disaster, then inching closer to each other after hours.

It had gone too far. Ianto knew this when they started genuinely, properly spending the night together. When it went beyond the games, beyond sex; when they’d turned affectionate somehow and lay tangled in each other’s skin night after night, he knew he was beyond help. Jack had saved him, over and over again. He’d turned from an adversary into a hero. And Ianto was willing to be led, willing to be reeled in when Jack wanted a lark, and to be pushed away other times. They needed that distance, sometimes. 

But Jack had dismissed him again as soon as he’d arrived at the Hub tonight. Despite the quick release, his body still tingled with desire, with disappointment. Ianto found it too strange to lay in Jack’s bed without Jack’s warmth pressing him against the wall. He hauled himself up and climbed the ladder to the Hub proper. In the office, the lights were too bright, the surfaces too hard, and the floor too cold. He hit his shoulder against the doorframe, stumbling out. 

His computer flickered to life, and he realized he’d turned it on without thinking. By sheer force of habit, he was standing here beside the curving metal stairs, his thoughts just as messy as the row of coffee mugs lying around. Ianto turned back toward the sofa and picked up the leftover bottle of wine but found it empty. His head hurt worse than ever, a throbbing pain radiating through his skull as if someone had stabbed him in the eye. Now Jack was gone, and the others too—they weren’t spending their late hours worrying over him. If he didn’t solve the case himself, Jack would certainly retcon him, or he’d be imprisoned. He couldn’t decide which he’d prefer. 

At his workstation, Ianto thumbed through his notes and conjured Welk’s voice, trying to remember anything that might help. “The queer stinks like a caged animal,” he’d said. “Like a weevil.” The weevils were the key to solving this, then. Ianto pulled up the CCTV to watch Welk’s weevils below and found they were just scratching themselves, sleeping, and growling like usual. 

But Jack had let a weevil free once, to guide them to the other weevils in the city, against Ianto’s own advice. Now Ianto wondered, if he let Welk’s weevils go, would they guide him to Welk’s associates or another clue? He didn’t have the SUV and couldn’t drive the beasts out to a remote neighborhood, but it was late enough at night that most everyone would be in their beds, safe with their sugar-plum dreams. From his own workstation, Ianto could open the back door from the dungeon cells to the sewers and watch the weevils run out, then track them from the devices they always wore. 

Anticipating their release, the creatures twisted their heads and howled as the back door creaked open. Before opening the cells, Ianto’s fingers flew across the computer and brought up a map of Cardiff. He reached for his headset and cleared his throat. His voice had to sound clear and sure. The line connected with a click like the safety of his gun being released. “Jack. Are you there?”

“Ianto?” Jack’s voice was quiet, surprised, with a steady hum behind him. 

Ianto pressed Enter on his keyboard. “I’m releasing the weevils, Jack.”

“You’re what?” Jack paused. “Have you lost your mind?”

“No, sir. We know they’re telepathic. We’ve tracked them before. Welk said he created the weevils? Maybe they’ll lead us straight back to his labs.”

“That’s either brilliant or insane,” Jack said. “You keep them in those cells, and that’s an order.”

“I’m going with insane,” Owen said on the line. “Why’s he in the Hub, Jack?” 

Ianto heard Jack shush him. “I’ll track them from here,” Ianto said, steeling himself. This could be the first time, since Lisa, he’d directly disobeyed Jack’s orders. “Countdown to release, three-two—”

“You hold it! We’re in the middle of something,” Jack interrupted. “Listen, I was about to call you. At the Swallowtail pub, 10 minutes ago—get the license number of the black van that pulled out of the car park just before the SUV arrived.”

“I can do that.” Ianto knew the Swallowtail. Typing into his computer he searched for the address and then used the GPS location to search for the cameras. His screen was crowded with windows.

“They released the weevils in the pub,” Jack continued, “and started taking civilians. That’s our lead.” 

“Just a minute.” While waiting for the computer to find the CCTV cameras at the pub, he looked back to the CCTV from the cells. The weevils were sniffing around, alert. If he didn’t release them now, he’d lose his chance. His hands were shaking, but he jammed the button. Cell doors slid open, and Welk’s three weevils rushed forward, growling toward the exit. 

He flicked to the other screen. “Found the cameras, Jack,” he said, zooming through the footage history. He found the van and zoomed in on the license plate, writing down the number. Once he fed it into the Torchwood tracking software, the traffic cameras would map where the plates were seen. 

“Ianto,” Jack demanded. “Report! Get me those license numbers. I’m driving blind.”

“It’s loading.” Ianto read off the license plate number, then tabbed to the other screen. “Meanwhile our weevils are heading steadily north, in your direction.”

“You didn’t,” Jack’s voice went quiet. 

“Bollocks, Ianto!” Owen swore. “We’ve had enough casualties for one night.”

“If they harm anyone,” Jack’s voice chimed in, “you’re suspended, Ianto. Understand?” 

Ianto felt his chest grow tight and found it hard to breathe. “So nothing’s changed then, has it?”

“Send me the coordinates for the van,” Jack demanded, “As soon as you get them. And get those weevils back in their cells.” Then there was silence. He’d muted his line.

\---

Jack swerved the SUV to the side of the road, slamming down on the brakes. Gwen flinched in the passenger seat. “Owen,” he called over his shoulder. "That car behind us." 

"She’s been following us," Gwen noted. 

"Your friend from the pub," said Jack. "Take her and get those weevils.” 

“Great.” Owen was rolling his eyes--you could tell without even looking. "You want me to car-jack someone now." 

“Take a stun-gun. Do whatever you have to,” Jack ordered. “Go!” 

“Cleaning up after Tea Boy again, am I?” Owen slammed the door behind him. 

Jack leaned his head back, as he watched Owen stroll toward the white car. He took a long, controlled breath. “Gwen, what do we know about her?” 

“Who, Selena?” Gwen shook her head. “Nothing, Jack. She’s clever. Resourceful. And she just about had a panic attack when I mentioned Torchwood.”

\-------------------- 

As Owen approached, Selena rolled her car window down. “Yeah,” she called out. “I’m following you. Got a problem with that?” 

Owen shook his head in admiration and climbed in the passenger side. "Sorry, sweetheart," he said. "You’re going to have to give me a lift in the other direction. My friend needs a doctor."

Selena gaped at him, then cursed. “Let me guess,” she sighed. “You want to go back to the Millennium Center?" 

“Right,” Owen leaned back in the seat, surprised. "Never mind how you know that. Just drive.”

Selena shook her head, but she pulled the car out into the road behind the SUV.

“Now, I don't want to hurt you,” Owen said, conversationally, “but I am armed. So turn around. Now." 

"Your friend," answered Selena, "who needs a doctor. Let me guess, Ianto Jones." 

"That's the one." Owen supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, given the brilliant job Ianto had done at making headlines today. “Now are you going to turn around, or do I have to threaten you with my gun?" 

“Psychiatrist, are you?” Selena’s laugh held no amusement, as she started to turn the car around. "You're not as threatening as Ianto was. How do you think he got back to your clubhouse in the first place?" 

"Didn't ask,” Owen answered. “I was too busy fighting weevils." He held on tight as she made a sharp turn in the middle of the road.

"Well, he hijacked my car earlier, so I guess you're late to the party." Selena stared ahead at the road, looking pissed off.

"Am I now?” Owen watched her. “He’s brought the cake and balloons then?" 

Selena tapped the wheel. "Just shut up and let me drive.”

“You could get out here while I take your car, if you prefer.” 

“What is with you people!” Selena shook her head, her foot pressing on the gas. They zoomed forward.

“Ianto!” Owen touched his ear. "We're headed toward the Hub, tracking your weevils.”

“O-kay,” Ianto said on the other end, his voice muffled.

Jack was on the line again. "Ianto—Selena Garcia. The name ring any bells?”

“Nope, Jack.” 

“Look her up. Thirty-something, slight accent, Spanish maybe. She fought off the weevils at the pub and followed us. Owen’s in her car heading toward you.” 

“Clear the lanes for a white VW Jetta,” Owen added. “I think you'll recognize the driver from earlier." He cocked his eyebrow, watching her. Selena’s knuckles were white, gripping the wheel. Yes, this was getting interesting.

Ianto’s voice was hoarse, suddenly. “Sod off, Owen.” 

 

\--------------------

 

Ianto wiped the sweat from his face and blinked at the screens, shaking his head. It was hard to concentrate without any sleep, and his body was aching again. 

The computer was running the license plates against the cameras from across the city, trying to pinpoint the van’s location. On the other screen, the map showed the weevils moving slowly north. He pulled up Torchwood’s background check software. Selena had given him a different name, but it was close enough to Martina. So, she knew how to lie then. Her daughter, Flora--had she invented the girl, too? 

Focus, he told himself. It wouldn’t do any good to consider how Jack would punish him for everything he’d done. His freedom depended on getting this right. The weevils had been a shot in the dark. It probably was insane, like Jack said.

Focus. The map showed the weevils’ location: the dots were diverging, even after he blinked to clear his vision. "Owen,” he said, “the weevils are splitting up.” 

“Ianto!” Jack swore into the line first. “We don’t have time for this. Get me that van.”

“The software’s running, sir,” Ianto schooled his voice to its usual calm register. “It’s almost caught up with you. I’m going to feed this through to your GPS system.”

“Gwen, turn the GPS on,” Jack said. “And your headset.” With a press of the button, the GPS map on the SUV’s dashboard screen flickered to life, showing two dots. 

Ianto explained. “The blue dot is you. The others are your targets. There’s a lag from the traffic cameras to your screen.” 

“Got it, Ianto.” Gwen’s voice was reassuring. “Thank you.”

“The van’s that yellow dot that just appeared. It’s not far off.”

“I’m on it,” Jack said, his voice turning gentler. “And Ianto? Feeling better?”

Ianto felt his breath hitch, but it wouldn’t do to let that bedroom tone cut right through him. “Peachy keen, sir.” 

Jack watched droplets condense on the windshield and the headlights blaring out on the street in front of him, and he remembered Ianto’s red, wet face crying against him earlier. Ianto’s perfect sarcasm was always his shield. “Drop the sir and say that again,” Jack said carefully.

“I’m fine,” Ianto sounded tired. “Just finish this and come back.” 

“Left, Jack,” Gwen’s voice was like a motor connected through Jack’s hands, and he followed her directions even as he struggled to answer Ianto. 

“Ianto, report if anything changes,” he finally said, and he switched off the microphone on his headset. Only then did he let his breath go ragged, swallowing that thick lump at the back of his throat.

"He'll be all right,” Gwen said, still looking at her GPS screen. 

"He'd better be,” Jack said, “or I'm bringing the entire Cardiff police force down.” 

\------------

Jack followed the blinking lights on the dashboard, out past rows of flats, shops, and warehouses, and out through the fields outside the city. There were no streetlights and hardly any other cars this time of night. “Are they leading us somewhere?" he wondered aloud. "Is this a trap?”

“Well, the van’s stopped moving,” Gwen said, monitoring the GPS, “and it’s close by.” 

Five minutes later, they found the vehicle parked by the edge of the road, and Jack pulled over a hundred yards away. He tossed a torch to Gwen, and they cautiously approached. Everything was quiet, dark, and deserted. “They’re gone,” Jack said. 

“But where?” Gwen shone her torch around them, looking for any sign of life, but there was no movement, not even a breeze rustling the grasses. It was eerie, like the night holding its breath, waiting to jump out with an unpleasant surprise. Then a clattering noise startled her, and Gwen turned in a rush, to see Jack opening the doors to the van and talking to someone inside. 

Gwen rushed back and peered over his shoulder. Five pairs of eyes blinked back. The men from the pub sat gagged and bound, stuffed in the backseat, and Jack was already climbing inside to release them. “Who did this?" he asked. "Where did they go?” 

“They left in another van,” one said, “across the fields.” 

“I recognize you,” another said, seeing Gwen, “from the pub. Those three blokes took the women. Told us they'd drive us to the police, to safety." 

“Where are we?” they looked around. "Not in Cardiff any longer."

“Just outside town,” Jack told them. “Everyone all right here? Gwen, med kit.”

"Yeah." She retrieved supplies from the SUV. She grabbed for water bottles, but left the retcon behind. The amnesia could be applied later. "This will sober you up," she told them, handing around bottles. Jack raised an eyebrow, so she handed him one too, to show it was clean. He smiled and nodded, relieved. They needed these men sober and clear-headed, to guide them to the missing women. 

“Thanks, I’m Bill,” one of the men introduced himself, and the others followed. Jerry, Lief, Carlos, and a couple other names that slipped Gwen's mind the instant they were mentioned. They were all relatively unharmed, though scraped up and bewildered. She handed out bandages for their scrapes, but there wasn’t much she could do for the bruising they had from the fights. 

“All right,” Jack said. “Gwen, take the van and follow me. The rest of you—anyone who wants to rescue those girls, get back inside.”

“It’s going to be dangerous,” Gwen added. “If you want to stay safe, you can stay here, and we’ll pick you up later. Or you can come and fight with us.”

“But choose now,” Jack told them. “We have to move!”

“We’ve got your back,” Bill said. “No way they’re getting away with this.”

“Yeah, we’re not letting you go in alone,” Jerry added. The other men looked less certain, but nodded and agreed. Gwen wondered how much of that was bravado. Jack winked at her, apparently thinking the same, and disappeared back into the SUV. 

The van's driver seat reeked of cigarettes and beer, and Gwen rolled down the window, then rearranged the seat so she could reach the pedals. Jack turned the SUV around, and then lurched into a ditch off the road. There was the crackle of gravel and a cloud of dust, as the two vehicles shifted onto the uneven ground, trundling across a fire road that cut through the fields. 

Gwen clutched the wheel and followed Jack’s tail lights, like anchors mooring her to the path. Behind her, the men were silent. She mused they probably didn't know how to fight, but at least there was strength in numbers. Thinking of Toshiko, still missing, and Ianto, waiting alone at the Hub, brought her courage, and she steeled herself for whatever might lie ahead.


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Selena takes the initiative, while Gwen and Jack continue their search for the missing women.

Owen was knee-deep in weevils for the second time that night, and the stench of them wasn’t getting any better. The Swallowtail pub’s floor swam with corpses and bodily fluids all muddled up. He pulled his shirt up over his nostrils to breathe, and watched first responders and police swarm the scene like bees in their yellow vests. 

Selena peered in the doorway behind him, but gagged and turned away as the smell reached her. Owen followed, backing out to the parking lot. 

They’d been tracking Ianto’s weevils around town, turning in circles around the city blocks, and finally found themselves back by the pub. Police lights flashed, warning passersby to stay away. Selena screeched the car to a halt, and Owen rushed out onto the site. 

A small crowd of coppers were wielding batons nearby, beating on someone, and Owen dove into the fray to find the two weevils howling at its center. He knocked two of the coppers out of the way and received a few answering pushes back, but he finally managed to get in with his stun-gun and knock out the weevils. 

“Who the hell are you, mate?” one of the coppers asked.

“That’s the thanks I get? I’m Torchwood,” Owen said. He looked around. Ambulance sirens wailed and caution tape floated, like yellow streamers in the damp city wind. “All right,” he told them. “Put these creatures in your holding cells. We’ll come and take them off your hands tomorrow.” 

“Hold on,” one of the coppers answered, “We can’t just toss ‘em in with the other prisoners now, can we?”

The voice behind him was firm and belonged to a woman. “Shoot them.” 

Owen turned around. “Detective Swanson.” She merely glared back, tight-lipped. “Agent Owen Harper, Torchwood. Usually we deal with the Cardiff riffraff, but,” Owen held up his hands, “tonight I’ll leave this mess in your hands, free of charge.”

Swanson appraised him, eyes skirting up and down until Owen felt too short and too skinny and completely underdressed. He was used to being flanked by Jack’s coat and Ianto’s suit. But he stood his ground, and Swanson’s eyes turned to Selena next. “And who’s this? One of yours?”

Owen shrugged. “Sort of, yeah.”

“You weren’t invited to this crime scene,” Swanson said. “Are these creatures a Torchwood experiment gone wrong?” 

Owen had to laugh at that. “No. See, we’re investigating missing persons, yeah?”

Swanson nodded. 

“You’ve got more cars parked here than your corpses inside. Count them,” Owen pointed out. “The others were rounded up in a large van and driven away. We’re not sure why, but we’re tracking them now.”

Swanson nodded and led him over toward the back door of the pub. “See what you can make of that bloody mess in there. And when I say bloody, beware, I mean it.” 

Owen ducked inside, where he pulled his shirt over his nostrils—the stink of death and fear was so heavy he could taste it like a coating on his tongue. The first responders were carrying out the injured and piling the dead by the bar, but the floor was still coated in blood and fluid. And Selena, behind him, was gagging and backing out of the room. Following her, Owen scrambled back outside where Swanson was waiting. “Nothing I can do now. It’s usually what we try to prevent. I’m sorry.” 

“Duly noted,” Swanson said, her face resigned. 

Owen reached to touch his ear, to call Jack, but he’d lost his headset in the fray. “Bloody hell,” he cursed. “Look, ”I’ll tell you what I know, if you give up this witch hunt for our agent, Ianto Jones.” 

“Justice is for the courts to administer, Agent Harper,” replied Swanson, folding her arms. “Not independent operatives with a god complex.”

“I get it,” He held up a hand, “Ianto’s a tosser, so’s Harkness—but believe me, it was self-defense. Welk got what he deserved.” 

Swanson snorted a laugh. “I’m sure. But those creatures we found tonight—Jack calls them weevils, doesn’t he? And he’d give me his special dose of amnesia if he caught me saying that.” 

“I don’t want to retcon you,” Owen told her. “We know Welk was using the weevils for something. Kidnapping women. Experimenting on them, maybe. We’ve not quite worked it all out yet.”

“There’s a massacre on our hands now,” Swanson gestured at the scene, “And we need answers, which Torchwood seems to have. If we work together, maybe we can prove Ianto Jones was just acting in the line of duty.” 

“Right,” Owen agreed, scanning the scene. He couldn’t see his headset lying on the ground anywhere. And Selena had disappeared. He looked over, but the parking spot just outside the yellow caution tape was vacant.

“So what do you recommend we do next?” Swanson was asking him.

“Well, I may need some help, actually,” Owen admitted, turning his attention back to the Detective. “I appear to have lost my ride.”

Swanson shook her head at him in disbelief. “Your Institute has a reputation, Agent Harper. You’re bossy, nosy, and increasingly incompetent.”

“Yeah, well,” Owen said, with a grin he’d learned from Jack, “At least we have some fantastic toys.”

\-------------------- 

Selena had seen abortions gone wrong, women with their blood pouring out. She’d seen grey, stillborn babies and messy miscarriages. But the pub floor was another horror entirely. With her stomach threatening to come up, she staggered back out while Owen investigated. Then she saw the beast, cowering at the side of a building. Owen had only stunned two of the weevils, and this other one had hidden itself in a shadow. 

Selena looked over at the unconscious weevils, waiting to be processed by the police, and saw something else shining on the ground nearby. She stepped over and picked it up—it was small, black metal, with one light glowing—the Torchwood Bluetooth headset, which Owen must have dropped in the fight. 

Selena turned back around and saw the weevil moving away, disappearing around a corner. She took a few steps to follow and looked around. Owen was still caught up with the police, and there was no time to call him—she’d have to follow on her own. She ran for her car. 

With the engine humming quietly, she drove around the corner. The weevil was there, shuffling down the street, and she allowed it some distance as she followed. No way was she going to approach the thing herself. 

She was still gripping the headset in her hands, so she pushed pushed and prodded it into her ear. It beeped as if detecting her, and the voice startled her for the second time that night—deep and Welsh. “Owen?”

“Ianto?” Selena answered, feeling her stomach tighten. 

“Where’s Owen?” His voice was low, angry.

She tried to breathe. He wasn’t holding a gun to her this time. There was no reason for the sudden knot of fear in her stomach. “Talking with the police. He dropped his headset.” 

“Selena Garcia? Twenty-five years old, unmarried.” He spoke as if reading something.

“What?” 

“Moved to Cardiff when you were nine with your sister and parents. One daughter. Flora. She died just over a year ago. I’m sorry.” The worst of it was, he sounded sincere.

“You’re a murderer, a car jacker, and a stalker now?” she asked, still angry, her pulse racing.

“Go home, Selena,” Ianto said, his voice tired. “Get some sleep. Oh, and give Owen’s headset back to him.” 

“Maybe I can help you. Did you think of that?” she asked. She blinked back tears—fear and exhaustion—and focused on the weevil still pacing in front of her.

“You’ve done plenty,” he said. “I’m sorry for getting you into this.”

“There’s still a weevil on the loose,” she said. “I’m following him from the pub. I fought those weevils off earlier too, you know.” 

“What were you doing there?” 

“Getting a drink after _someone_ pointed a gun at my head,” Selena retorted. “I thought, just one drink, then everything will go back to normal, but the night just keeps getting stranger. And now I’m following a weevil, and talking to my car jacker via satellite.”

“Jack?” Ianto said. “Are you getting this?” 

“Every word.” The Captain’s voice was clear with his hard r’s. 

Selena breathed. So Torchwood had an open line. Their leader was listening, and probably the others, too. “I need some answers,” she insisted. “And there’s still this weevil.”

“Your call, Ianto,” Jack said, with his long American vowels. “You got her into this. You set the weevils free. So you decide when she gets out.” His voice was mild, but there was a hard edge to it. 

There was a silence. “The weevil is moving—toward Welk’s house I think,” Ianto said. 

“Selena,” Jack spoke again, “You drive like Hell out of there at any sign of trouble.”

Selena just laughed. “Trouble keeps finding me—and its name is Torchwood.” Then all was silent on the line. The shadows from streetlights cut through the road, casting patches of light across the weevil’s mottled skin and glinting off the leather collar of its coat. Selena followed.

\--------------------

The two dark cars wound through darkness, just their headlamps pointing the way, the Torchwood SUV and van following a path through the field. A slow drizzle obscured any stars.

“There’s a house up there,” Jack said, and then Gwen saw squares of light from the windows, glowing in the darkness. 

They shut off the lamps, and as her eyes adjusted, Gwen saw the outline of the house take shape. Anyone could be watching from inside that farmhouse. In the distance, silhouettes of trees rose at the edge of the fields, their spires pointed up toward the sky. Behind her, she felt the men fidgeting. 

“Ianto?” Jack’s voice resonated suddenly in her ear again. “What can you tell me about this place?” 

“Site of an old inn, abandoned in the ‘90s,” Ianto answered in his customary calm, quiet way. And as usual, he was already prepared, had already researched the place. “A family lived there, rented out rooms. One day the tourist site shut down, and they’d vanished. I reckon it’s stood derelict since.”

“So. Abandoned building,” Jack said. “Great site for a weevil breeding experiment.”

That was Jack and Ianto, Gwen thought. Ianto was always a step ahead, finding out what they needed to know. And Jack took it in his stride, expecting it even. That was Torchwood. You had to always be on the alert, always prepared. Ianto wanted so hard to please Jack that he always would be, but at what cost? He had to be tired, and upset, given the poor decisions he'd made tonight. But you couldn't tell from his voice any longer. 

“It was called the Harvest Inn,” Ianto continued. “The same name as the Harvest Church, run by Reverend Arthur Hailey, an associate of Welk’s. Interesting coincidence.”

“Did you say Hailey?” Jack asked. 

“Arthur Hailey, yes sir. The name is familiar, but I’m not sure why.”

“Jack?” Gwen interrupted the history lesson. “We need a plan—we can’t just barge in a farmhouse with five civilians behind us and hope for the best.”

“Ianto,” Jack’s voice had taken a note of panic. “Ed and I—it was him. It was Hailey.”

“Jack, your nightmare?” Ianto breathed. Gwen heard the intimacy in their voices. There was a history here, and she didn’t have the full story. 

Still, she heard Jack take a breath, and felt the moment he shut off Jack and became only their Captain. “Arthur Hailey captured aliens in the ‘60s,” he explained. “He was charging wealthy visitors to come see his zoo. We had five intergalactic agencies on his trail, but Hailey led us into a trap and slaughtered our team. We shut everything down, but he escaped.”

“We’ll get him now, Jack,” Gwen reassured him. 

“No more casualties,” Jack answered. “The men stay here unless we need them inside. We’ll arm them with stun guns, just in case.” 

The SUV slowed, and Gwen pulled to a stop behind him, still a few hundred yards from the house. She turned around in her seat. “You’ll stay by the van,” she told the men silently watching her. “Don’t wander off.” 

Five pairs of frightened eyes looked at her, with a soft chorus, of “All right,” “Good,” and “Yes, Mum.” They tumbled out of the van and, stomping their feet, stretched into the cold air. Their breath curled around and floated up into the night.

Jack approached with an armload of weapons, and handed each man a stun-gun. “Don’t shoot unless you have to.” He demonstrated how to use it, and Gwen watched, recalling her first weapons training. He’d stood behind her, holding her arm, showing her body how to move with his own. But this time, there was no full body contact and no flirting. Jack was ready to charge in for battle. 

One of the lads—Jerry—saluted Jack, who smiled back. Here was a young soldier, recognizing another. Jack always found a kindred spirit or someone willing to follow him, any time, any situation. Jack beckoned Gwen over, took her headset, and handed it to the boy, telling him, “If something goes wrong, you’re in command here.”

“Yes sir,” Jerry saluted again, stone-faced but clearly pleased. 

Jack made sure the headset was properly engaged, then broke away quickly. He nodded to Gwen, and then she was following his shadow toward the building. Lights flickered in the top story. Out in the fields, there were livestock grazing, and the sight of them seemed so normal that Gwen felt a wave of reassurance. 

They circled the house, until they reached the back door. For a moment, the world was still, and then Jack inhaled and kicked the door open, raising his gun. Gwen followed, barreling inside so close she felt his body’s heat through his shirt. They blinked into the sudden bright light. 

“Surprise!” a man’s voice called. Gwen’s stomach fell as her eyes adjusted. Here were the three men from the warehouse, and two of them were training guns on Gwen and Jack. 

“And the Lord brings forth the sinners for their salvation.” The third man spoke from the center of the room. “We could smell you coming. All that hope and anger. We could use that smell in our research. Boys, what do you think?”

It was too late to run.


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an abandoned part of town, Selena finds she has to follow the weevil on foot instead of in the protection of her car.   
> And Gwen starts to uncover some terrifying truths about the weevils and the women that Torchwood is trying to rescue.

Selena drove behind the weevil as it slunk through the damp streets of Cardiff. The pavement was drying, leaving wet cracks gleaming under orange lights. The weevil pawed the stone sides of buildings and sniffed the air like a dog on the prowl. 

Her comms. were silent, since Ianto had set up a separate line to the Torchwood team. Selena’s stomach was settling down from the roiling nausea she’d felt earlier. The night wasn’t over, but she hoped the violence was, and her mind felt clearer at least. 

She almost jumped when her mobile rang, buzzing with Piazzola’s “Libertango.” The weevil looked around, and Selena flipped the mobile open to her ear swiftly to kill the noise--afraid the noise would make the weevil come investigate her, come at her with its sharp teeth. But when the ringing ceased, the weevil only returned to sniffing the air, and turned back to the street. 

“Hullo?” she said into the waiting line.

“Lena, I feel wretched.” Maria sounded like she’d been crying. “Did I do the right thing?”

“You took a boatload of hormones,” Selena reminded her sister. “You’re going to feel like Hell and then be fine. Promise.”

“Can you come over? It’s only, Tony’s here. He was called in to research a case—it’s that Torchwood thing.”

“Not now. You wouldn’t believe the night I’m having,” Selena said. “What’s Tony doing on the case?”

“One of his lawyers asked for information,” Maria said, “but now the bloke’s not answering his mobile. Tony’s livid, he’s stayed up all night for nothing. Everything’s a mess, Lena.” She was close to wailing again, and Selena wished she could do more than offer empty reassurance. 

“Just hang in there, and get some sleep. I’ll call tomorrow, all right?” She hung up and bit down on her phone. There was nothing she could do for her sister. When the blur in her eyes cleared, the weevil had vanished. She pulled to the side of the road and pushed the button on her headset. “Ianto? I lost it. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s gone indoors. Do you have any weapons?” 

She didn't know if he'd heard her talk to Maria, or if it mattered. And now, she was in an area surrounded by warehouses, auto shops and industry, running along the muddy river. The area looked deserted, but she didn’t know who might be lurking in shadows. Tramps, or more of these creatures, or worse, ready to leap out and attack her. And no one around to help. And Ianto, a fugitive, couldn't call for help if he needed to. 

Somehow, she had faith he would find a way, though. Gathering courage, she stepped out cautiously and opened her trunk. “I’m not prepared for this part of town,” she told him. But there in her trunk was her only weapon, red and heavy. “I’ve just got a fire extinguisher. If nothing else, I’ll give it the foam shower of its life.”

“Good plan," he approved. "Now, listen.” His directions led her toward a dark building across the street, and she lugged the extinguisher along. The ground was littered with corrugated sheets of metal and cast-away machine parts, and she did her best to keep her footing in the dark. She heard only her own footsteps, announcing her presence.

The metal door to the building looked heavy and was jammed shut. She held up the extinguisher and--grateful for the cardio kick-box class she'd been taking--bashed it against the door. It screeched open, to her relief, but she couldn't see anything inside. Holding the extinguisher before her like a shield, she took one cautious step forward into the giant, dark space. Slowly the details sharpened, her eyes adjusting. Moss grew on the brick wall. Looming above her were metal machines, casting bizarre shadows. She’d stepped into an abandoned factory.

“I’m in.” Her voice was quiet compared to the crashing noise she'd made, but she still spoke barely above a whisper. 

She examined the machinery. There were metal boilers and pipes dripping with condensation and covered in rust. A hole in the ceiling let in a puff of fog and light that streaked across the concrete floor. Her footsteps squelched in the puddles, and she was grateful for her work shoes that protected her feet. 

“Can you hear it?” Ianto asked.

She could make out the weevil shuffling along the corridors, just by noise but not by sight. “Just a rustling in the dark,” she explained. “I should be scared. I can’t see anything. I can’t fight it.” 

She waited, letting it gain some distance, and controlling the anxiety that had been churning in her stomach since she'd stepped out of her car. Ianto didn't answer. He wasn't the reassuring type, or perhaps he just didn't have any good advice right now. From what she could tell, Torchwood was used to danger, every day. What else besides weevils did they encounter? She didn't quite want to ask.

When she stepped forward, she passed an old control panel with missing gauges, then found herself at the edge of a long aisle in the center of the building, wide enough for trucks to drive through. There stood rows of wooden pews like in a church, and her eyes followed them. The hard-backed seats faced toward a table and a figure catching the light.

The crucifixion. An altar. Her breath caught, fear ripping through her stomach along with a prayer. “God, what is this place? There’s a cross here.” 

“It’s an old refinery,” Ianto supplied slowly, as if looking it up. “Now site of the Harvest Church, run by an associate of Winchester Welk. Arthur Hailey. Sounds familiar?”

“No, but, it’s the creepiest place I’ve ever seen.” Churches were places of grace and worship. But this one hadn't been touched by God. And whatever was posing as God in this place, she didn't want to meet.

“Selena, you should get out of there.” Ianto's voice had lost its calm, grown shaky like earlier that evening, probably echoing the worry in her own voice. “It may not be safe.”

"You think?" she didn't hide her sarcasm. But the weevil’s footsteps at the side of the room pulled her attention as they clattered, echoing around the metal platforms and scaffolding. Peering through the dark, her eyes were adjusting, and she could see it climbing up from one floor to the other. The metal stairs twisted like DNA into a double helix pattern. The light swirling in from the ceiling glittered against the spiral staircase. But the light was marred by the dark smudge of the weevil as it slowly clambered upwards. 

The weevil made it to the second story and disappeared through a doorway. Selena followed.

\--------------------

Gwen glanced around the old barn, never taking her eyes off the guns pointing to her head. 

“Oh come on,” the man taunted, “Our guns may be the same size, but my men are bigger—too big even for you, Captain SpacePants.” 

Jack’s face was chiseled anger, and he hadn’t budged, still training his own gun on them. Now he glanced at Gwen, defeated, and they lowered their weapons to the floor. “We’re down.” He said it quietly, almost under his breath. Gwen hoped his headset was on, and Ianto was listening. 

“It’s been such a long time, Jack Harkness, since you robbed my lab of our alien specimens,” the man continued. His voice wheezed in the unhealthy way of emphysema, or a life-long chain-smoker.

Gwen and Jack lifted their hands, disarmed, and slowly stood up. “Arthur Hailey,” Jack said, his face twisting. “All this time, stuck on Earth, so the Shadow Proclamation won’t catch up with you? Hasn’t lung cancer got you yet?” 

“Oh, no, we’ve cured cancer,” Hailey was smug. “And I’ve done it again, haven’t I? Taken your partners. Ianto Jones, awaiting a life in prison. Edwin Clarke—well, see for yourself.”

He gestured with a thick arm to the side of the room. Tied up against a hay bale lay an older gentlemen, a shock of pepper hair sticking out around a gag around his mouth, and his shirt-collar bloodied. His head was dropped on his chest, unconscious. Gwen had never seen him before, but she felt Jack’s breathing go ragged. 

“Ed’s no part of this,” he said. “What have you done?” He moved forward, but the men with guns pressed toward him.

“Jack.” Gwen grasped his arm, holding him back.

“Oh, the look on your face, why, you’re an inspiration!” Hailey laughed. “Don’t worry, he’s only sleeping. For now.” Hailey rubbed his fat palms together. “Now, time to discuss the weevils! Did you think they were alien?” 

Jack shook his head, then looked at Gwen, explaining. “Weevils appeared in the mid-90s, just a few, then bred in the sewers. Some kind of alien or victims of the Rift, we thought.”

“We made them. And yes, some escaped. Small clerical error. We called them the Freaks till we found you.” Hailey paced toward them. Then he was up in Jack’s face, and Gwen could only imagine how bad his breath smelled around the filthy stubble around his mouth. 

Jack bristled, his shoulders square, but not as large as Hailey's thick body. “You didn’t even bother to put them out of their misery,” Jack accused him, disgusted. “Just set them loose to feed off Cardiff.”

“We’re scientists,” Hailey dismissed, stepping away. “Not animal control. And they breed quickly, like rabbits.” 

“Why breed them?” Gwen asked, hoping they could stall for time and get some answers.

“Gwen Cooper, isn’t it?” Hailey looked at her for the first time, then turned back to Jack. “Behind any good scientist is a man who’s made mistakes, who’s not afraid to try again. We had to adjust the recipe, to replicate the work until we succeeded. That’s how scientific progress is made. How the suffering servants of God will triumph at last.”

“Your experiment failed,” Jack spat. “And you’ve crossed the line, playing with human life.”

“We draw the line, Captain.” Hailey answered. “Torchwood believes it’s above the law. We’re no different.” His eyes flashed, eyebrows raising in challenge. “And don’t you want to know how we’re going to do it?” 

“Yes.” Jack cleared his throat. “Yes.” His voice was clear, enunciated, and Gwen caught a look in his eyes. He wasn’t talking to Hailey, then—he was talking to Ianto on the other end of the line. Send in the reinforcements, he was saying. 

Hailey, meanwhile, opened a steel cabinet, and took out some kind of white bottle, a spray diffuser. “Under the right stimulus, a certain mixture of the weevil perfume sedates humans, specifically the females.” 

“Oh, God.” Gwen wasn’t a scientist like Tosh or Owen, but the logic was clear. They were playing with pheremones, genetically modified to subdue women. Hell, Jack was close enough, she could practically smell the charisma that oozed from his pores, too. In plenty of moments, Jack's smell alone had short-circuited her thoughts, and gone straight to her instincts. Usually the result was embarrassing. In the wrong circumstance, it could be deadly.

“See for yourself.” Hailey gestured to one of his men, who opened the curtains lining the room. Green swathes of fabric swung to the side, revealing another room hidden behind the curtains. What had once been a large barn or living area had been modified to this bizarre laboratory and sectioned into smaller rooms. Glass walls partitioned the areas, and inside, hospital beds stood in rows. The women lay inside. Long IVs ran from their arms to medical machines that buzzed and hummed. Then Gwen saw the beds were made of hay bales, and the room still resembled a barn. 

“We’ve sped up the process,” Hailey said. “Effectively, they’re eight weeks along. Just another couple weeks and—well—pop! We’ll have our harvest. And through the fruit of our labor, the Lord will purge the land of sinners.” These, then, were the women that Ianto had seen. They'd been impregnated. They were carrying these half-breed weevil spawn. “But how?” Gwen asked, her voice rising in the room. “And how did you breed the weevils in the first place?” 

“Oh, the genesis story!” Hailey rubbed his palms together. “All right—it’s lovely really, heartwarming. You want storytime? Well. In the beginning, there was a farmhouse nearby—oh, Jack, did you want to fill in?”

For Jack had opened his mouth, then closed it again. “The bed and breakfast,” he said. “They advertised trips for tourists. Once people traveled to Cardiff, their families couldn’t track them from their home countries.”

“Good,” Hailey agreed. “You’ve done your research.” 

“It was an easy way to kidnap people without being detected,” Jack continued. “The women become surrogates, giving birth to the weevils. The men were probably food. It's what they did before, in the 70s, luring aliens to Earth for a quaint getaway. Capturing them here. But what are you, Hailey? Where are you from?” 

“And why more Cardiff women, why now?” Gwen asked. It wouldn't do for Jack to dwell in the past or get lost in his anger. 

“They’re in a hurry,” Jack growled. “They didn’t expect Welk to get himself killed. And now that Torchwood’s onto them, and we’re on the defensive, they’re speeding it up with everything they’ve got.”

“Not even Torchwood has this technology,” Hailey said, still smug. “Of course not—you’re just alien artifacts collectors. We’re on a mission, leading people to their salvation.” 

“You’ve gotten sloppy, though,” Jack said. “The police track missing persons. Just taking random women off the street, with no genetic scans? You don’t even know if they’re fertile.”

“We have faith in the Lord’s work,” Hailey answered. “And He’s the best doctor of all. No need for medicine and bed-rest for nine months—just a few weeks and ding, ready! Plus, we’ve got a sufficient sample. We can spare some bad seeds.” 

“A few weeks is an improvement, especially with twins,” Jack conceded, over his shoulder to Gwen. “Remind me to tell you about the time—“

“Jack, you haven’t,” Gwen interrupted, hissing through her teeth.

“Georgio,” Hailey said, fiddling with the spray device in his hands, “would you do these poor Torchwood sods the honor of opening the other curtain?” 

The room smelled suddenly of iodine and metal—and something wrong, rank and rotten. The other curtains swept open, revealing a second room enclosed in glass walls. Gwen saw flashes of long hair, red dresses, and dark jeans. Inside were the women from the pub, lounging awkwardly around another ring of hay bales. They were upright, awake, and yet they didn't look upset—just, absent. Their faces were slack, their bodies sagging and relaxed.

“What have you done?” Gwen asked, walking toward the room for a better look. She found herself coughing. Disgust was just welling up in her lungs. It was getting hard to breathe and hard to swallow. She couldn't tell exactly what was happening, but she knew it was sick and wrong. She watched through the glass. These women who earlier had been enjoying a drink and a laugh or a snog in the bar--now here they were, caged like farm animals. 

As she watched, she saw a door at the far end of the room open, and men entered. There were five, six--more! Eight, ten of them, all prowling around as if getting their bearings and uncertain what to do. Were they the men from the van, who'd been captured? But no, they weren’t men at all. They were limping, growling--weevils. Nausea roiled in her stomach. These were the livestock she'd seen earlier, in the field, a herd of weevils. 

“No,” Gwen said. “Not weevils. You can't!” She turned back around toward Hailey, who still stood, fat and flushed and smug. He'd opened a door in the glass wall beside her. “We’ve got a fine show planned for you this evening!” he announced.

Gwen turned away, to make for the door, but the men with guns were stepping closer. “Get in,” one said. Gwen and Jack backed up, being herded inside the room with the other women and the weevils. Jack’s hand was on her arm, with a warning in his eyes to do as they were told. 

“Oh, you’d like to volunteer?” continued Hailey. “Well, now’s your opportunity!”

\-------------------- 

Selena’s shoes clattered on the spiral stairs, but the next room’s floor was tile and quiet. She groped to find a light switch. Fluorescent panels blinked, blinding her for a moment. 

The room felt like a laboratory or hospital ward, with walls painted white and 15 beds lined up in neat rows, flanked by monitors and equipment. The weevil was disappearing beyond another door. Tall biohazard wastebaskets stood by the door, along with a cart of discarded blankets. Instead of following the weevil, she took a second look around. Sheets lay half off the beds. Pill bottles, vials, and pens were strewn on the counters.

“Selena, report,” Ianto’s voice was in her ear. 

"It's a medical facility, a room full of hospital beds--but the patients and nurses have all vanished,” she said. “They left in a hurry, but why? Why this, here?”

Selena set the fire extinguisher down. Her arm was heavy and tired. She could still hear the weevil, lurching slowly through another hallway beyond the door and starting to moan horribly. She let it go—with that noise, she could track it later, easily. She tried to turn the night over in her mind--these weevils, this factory, a Church out of a horror flick--and a medical lab. How did these fit together?

“What can you see? Is there any documentation—medications, files, lab results?” Ianto asked her.

Selena scanned the room again. “Each bed has a file,” she noticed, quickly grabbing up a few and piling them on the counter. She looked through them. “They’re mostly the same. Their patients are numbered. They have an intake session on day 1 with some medical history, then drugs administered. But these aren’t approved medications. Nothing I recognize.” 

“You work in a clinic.”

“That’s right. Not a proper nurse, but I know common prescriptions, and I know medical files. These are strange, Ianto. Some say ‘impregnation complete’ and others, ‘terminated.’ What does that mean?” 

Ianto didn’t answer. Selena looked around again. Everything here was all wrong. This couldn’t be a sanctioned medical facility, hidden in a warehouse. It couldn’t quite be sanitary, and _impregnation_ couldn't mean what she thought. “Ianto, it’s like they’re housing a secret lab here. Their own drug mixes, their own experiments,” she said. She wasn't quite ready to ask, _What are they doing?_

“Listen,” Ianto said, his voice low. “Take what you can, and get out the way you came.”

“What’s going on?”

“Your family moved here from Spain when you were small, right? Your aunt Anita and uncle Felipe went missing?”

“How did you know?”

Ianto continued. “Felipe and Anita Mendoza were checked in to the Harvest Inn outside Cardiff—“

“Oh, my God,” Selena muttered.

“No sign of them after. They disappeared. But Jack and Gwen are there now at that Inn. They’ve found your patients, and the missing women from the bar. They need your help.”

Selena was already gathering up bottles from the cabinets and files from the beds. “I’m on my way, Ianto. I’m taking evidence.” She left the fire extinquisher behind, and the weevil howling in the corridors. 

"Good. Move!" he commanded her, in a tone he must have picked up from Torchwood's Captain, the one in the long coat. Selena didn't stop to comment, though. She rushed back downstairs, back through the warehouse, toward the creepy moonlit Saviour, and back outside to her car.


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack finds a way to break down the poison in the air. Selena stumbles over a dead man.

Jack’s body heat was the only thing calming Gwen as they were pushed into the next room toward the weevils. “It’s all right,” he said in her ear. 

Behind them, the suited men were still waving guns. As she backed away from them, she looked to Jack, his eyes clear blue, his cheeks pale. She wanted to ghost her fingers across his face for reassurance. She thought she might faint. She’d been in danger before, threatened before, but it had been a long time since it had made her feel so dizzy.

From a pocket, the Captain pulled out a handkerchief. “Cover your face. It’s the smell confusing you.” His eyes were trained on her, and she put her hand up, taking the cloth that he was pressing over her mouth. 

“Keep me safe, Jack,” she murmured, pulling his arm around her. She wanted to kiss his oversized rose-petal lips. But he pulled her around by the elbow, forcing her to face the room. 

The weevils were prowling around the hay bales, near the other women. She wasn’t ready to fight them again—they’d no doubt knock her down just now. She wanted to drag Jack into a corner and press herself against him there. They’d be stronger, together. They could fight back to back or hide for a while, against each other. 

His voice was raspy in her ear. “Gwen, you ever slept with a girl?”

“What?” she fought the fogginess in her head. “There’s a time and a place!” 

“No, really,” he said. “What if we override these pheremones?” 

The pheremones, she realized, were throwing her off. Her thighs were hot. Jack felt too good against her body. “Oh, God,” she said. She kept looking at him—just because she understood, didn’t mean she was ready to move away.

“You ever wanted to kiss a woman, Gwen?” he hissed. “Now’s your chance.” 

His hand was warm on her spine, fingers spreading over her lower back, easing her forward into the room. They wove around other women, and suddenly she saw Toshiko. The room seemed to flicker and clarify. Gwen saw the weevils sniffing the air in a herd, and the women standing dazed and unmoving, drugged. Tosh was right in front of her, whispering to herself and distracted from reality.

“Wake her up, Gwen,” Jack’s voice was a gentle order. “Give her the snog of her life.” 

Gwen looked at Tosh, and Jack’s words started to make sense. “If this doesn’t work,” she told him, “I’m going to kill you.” 

“I think they’re first in line,” Jack nodded toward the weevils. “Look at our Toshiko. She’s beautiful, brilliant. Don’t you just want to—“ The growl in his voice was pulsing through her neck, as he took the hands of the two women and brought them together. “Kiss her, Gwen.” 

Gwen clasped at Tosh’s limp fingers, and slid her hand up the soft skin of Tosh’s arm. There was no recognition in her eyes. Leaning forward, Gwen pressed her lips to Tosh’s cheek, then to her mouth. She felt Jack watching and his heat behind her. After a moment, Toshiko was responding, her hips pushing forward against Gwen’s leg, sending a hot shiver through her core.

“Hi, Tosh,” Gwen said. “I missed you.” She reached forward and kissed her again, licking a line across her lips and watching her reaction. 

Toshiko was waking up, her pupils focusing, her mouth reaching out for more. She tasted sweet and salty, and slightly of flowers. Gwen pulled away. As Toshiko slowly woke from her daze, her eyes grew wider. “Gwen? Gwen, where are we?” 

“Listen,” Jack told them. “The pheremones in the air make you receptive to the weevils. It’s a drug. You’ve got to stay awake, Toshiko. Focus on Gwen.” 

Tosh looked back and forth between them, suddenly alert. “Oh,” she said, realization dawning, “We’ve got to interrupt the olfactory signatures.”

“Exactly,” Jack answered. “Now go help the others.”

“You’re brilliant,” Gwen sighed, kissing Toshiko’s soft lips again. 

“You’re Princess Charming,” Tosh answered, her smile lighting her pink cheeks. She kissed Gwen again, then pulled away, and Jack’s heat vanished too. Gwen watched as Toshiko reached for a woman nearby, a pretty ginger, and gave her a peck on the cheek, then a quick capture of her lips, and then Toshiko was wrapping around the girl. 

That was their Toshiko—hesitant at first but passionate to the core. Gwen turned and saw that Jack had started fighting, pushing weevils away from the women. He was working off his aggression, that dark storm cloud that had been hovering around his shoulders since the day Ianto first ran into Winchester Welk.

Gwen turned to the next closest woman, a brunette. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to her purple lips, then pulling her body close to snog her properly. She tasted vanilla in the lipstick, and the other woman began to respond, her hips pressing a rhythm on Gwen’s thigh and her chest a soft weight on Gwen’s own. 

“We’ve been kidnapped, love,” Gwen murmured against her. “One way to fight it. See?” Forcefully, she turned the woman to look around the room. She leaned against the woman’s cheek, breathing in her perfume. “Wake them up with a kiss, yeah?” 

She wanted to press her hips against the woman’s, to reach up and feel those breasts under her hands, but she forced herself to walk the woman forward, and press her against another girl nearby. She watched as the woman pressed purple lipstick smudges on the other’s neck, and then they were rubbing and writhing together. 

Gwen pressed close to them, licking the neck of the woman with the lipstick, and pressing her body up against the woman’s back. Then she pulled away again, and pulled them apart at the shoulders. They looked frightened, awake now, realizing what they’d been doing. “It’s a drug, in the air,” Gwen explained. “Go wake the others. Kiss them, just like you want to. Wake them up.” 

She guided them toward the other girls, and soon there were women pressed against each other all around her, with stray hands and tongues, and— Oh God, thought Gwen. She’d wanted to do that with Jack not two minutes ago. And then with Toshiko, and then these women. Her head was clearer, but that heat between her legs was still pulsing and the women were still in danger. 

Across the room, she saw her own reflection in a mirror—disheveled, her eyes wide and lips bright red. A purple smudge decorated her cheek from the woman’s lipstick. The glass walls of the room were one-way mirrors, Gwen realized, like an interrogation room or laboratory. For a moment, she had to laugh—she was in some circus freak show, part of a freaky lab experiment, fighting off villains by kissing. 

But, beyond that mirror, Hailey and his ilk could be looking in on them—enjoying the view, or rather, worried about what was next as their plans were ruined. Gwen couldn’t do anything about them now, though, so she turned back to the room. 

She saw Jack’s tongue buried in a bloke’s mouth, his hands pulling the man close by the hips. Ianto must have sent in the reinforcements—the men from the van were pushing through the fray of weevils, pushing them off, and Jack had grabbed that young soldier, Jerry. They were linked at the hips, and she'd never seen two blokes in a public places snogging each other so passionately--nearly violently gripping each other's waists and sucking each other's lips. Then Jack pulled away, face slack and shocked and flushed. He said something, and they broke apart and turned in tandem, punching weevils left and right. Jack loved to fight as much as he loved to fuck.

But there wasn’t time for Gwen to stand and marvel at the scene. The weevils were already descending on some of the girls, sniffing them and pushing at them, and with a shout, Gwen pushed her way through. She pulled weevils off the women and kicked them aside, twisting their necks and knocking them down. Her thighs were still hot, and her muscles burned from exertion, but the arousal and pain only made her more angry. 

Meanwhile, Toshiko and the girls were working the room, waking each other up. The smell in the room began to change, smelling like women, like sex, and soon the ground was littered with unconscious weevils, and the girls were all clinging to each other.

“Good work, Gwen!” Jack was at her side again, and Gwen resisted the urge to collapse against him. “I have to find the others,” he said. “Stay here. Make sure they’re safe.” 

“And your friend,” Gwen remembered.

“Edwin.” A shadow passed over his face, and the earlier flush of arousal was gone. “Torchwood maneuver 3-1-6.” Swiftly, he turned away again. Gwen felt helpless, as he slipped out the door. Maneuver 3-1-6 was simply Torchwood code for _“No clue what I’m doing, so come find me if I don’t return in a while.”_

Gwen looked around, feeling empty without Jack nearby. She couldn’t follow—there were too many people here that needed looking after. Jerry caught her glance and gave her a salute. Second-in-command, now Gwen was in charge. If only she knew what to do next. 

\-------------------- 

Ianto was fighting blurry lines in front of his eyes, waiting at the Hub for a word from Jack and news from Selena. 

“It’s here.” Selena’s voice was soft in his ear. “The SUV and the van. On a fire road of some kind.” He was grateful for that voice, keeping him focused. All he had was the map on his screen, with a dot for her location. 

He didn’t know what had become of the others. The snatches he’d heard made little sense. That lout Hailey was holding Jack at gunpoint. Jack gave the signal, and Ianto told their citizen army, led by Jerry, to move in. Then things stopped making sense--there was Jack telling Gwen to kiss Toshiko, and he thought he heard Jack’s soft groan of pleasure--or maybe Ianto was so exhausted he’d started hallucinating a Torchwood orgy instead of a raid. 

A click on the line woke him up again. Selena had opened the boot of the SUV. “Ianto, what am I looking for?”

“A briefcase. Stun-guns.” He described their kit, then told her never to use the weapons. “You’ll be my eyes and ears. But don’t try to do anything brave, hear me?”

“What about your friends?” 

“They’re professionals.”

He imagined he could make out her footsteps as she circled the house. Her breath came in rasps through the earpiece, then a frightened whine made him wince. “Selena?” Only rustling noises followed. “Selena? Tell me what’s going on.” 

There was no response, even when he fiddled with the headset. Alone in the Hub, Ianto bit his fist and watched the little saline droplets collecting in their alien plant terrariums. He might as well be on another planet from his team, just now. 

\--------------------

He must have dozed off waiting for someone on the line to break the silence. The CFLs of the Hub flickered in front of his eyes, and Ianto felt the computer monitor against his face. Good Lord, he was exhausted, but a woman was whispering in his ear again. 

For one lovely nonsensical moment, he pictured Lisa, but then it was Selena through the comms., saying Jack was dead. “Your Captain. There’s no pulse, Ianto.” 

“Selena. Back up. What happened?” he asked, swallowing the crackle in his voice. 

“He was coming out the door.” Her voice was panicked again. “And this man, he broke Jack’s neck. I tased him. I guess it’s the adrenalin. Otherwise, I never could have—”

“Selena,” Ianto interrupted. He hadn’t told her why Winchester Welk was dead, or how much he needed Jack right now. “Tell me what you can hear. Are there any others left there?”

“I don’t know—they’re inside, I think, and he’s right here near the door. Oh God, I should go.”

“Keep quiet, then.” Ianto tried to sound reassuring. “Stay right there. Please just stay with him.”

When Jack took his great wheezing gasp back to life, Ianto felt rather than heard it. And he felt the way Selena jumped back with a cry, as the dead man gripped her arm, blinking wildly around. “It’s okay,” Ianto reassured her through the line. “He’s fine. He does this. Jack, can you hear me?”

Jack would be pulling himself to his feet now, half-pulling her down as he stood up, because he never had control of his body right after he resurrected. He was used to someone stronger bracing him. Ianto ached to be by his side, to always be with him when he had to endure that leap back from the void to life. 

Jack was talking to Selena, but his voice wasn’t coming through the comms. “Jack?” Ianto said again, “Selena, I need to talk to him.”

Her voice was soft again, probably standing inches from Jack, smelling his sweat for the first time as he clutched her arms. “He wants you—” she said, and Ianto couldn’t tell which of them she was talking to.

The headset crackled, and Jack’s voice was faint. “Ianto?”

“Welcome back, sir,” Ianto answered, relieved.

“We’re all fine,” Jack said into the headset. Ianto could picture him looking into Selena’s eyes, talking to both of them. “We took care of the weevils. Gwen’s with the girls from the bar tonight.”

“We found a warehouse,” Selena told him. “Empty hospital beds. Are the patients here?”

“They’re in the other room, and they’re pregnant,” Jack said. “We’re going back in.”

“Wait,” Ianto felt his stomach tense again, imagining Jack stumbling right back into danger, and envisioning the scene from the other day where the weevils swarmed the women in Welk's house. “Jack, tell me. What’s going on?”

But Jack didn’t slow down. “Not now,” he said, then lowered his voice, talking to Selena. “You can stay here or follow me.” 

Ianto gripped the desk in his palms, wishing the night would wear itself down and end. There was a sharp cry from Myfanwy, restless in her nest above. Jack was whispering to Selena in hushed tones, and Ianto could barely make out his words. He wasn’t jealous, he told himself. He just needed to know what was going on.


	12. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and the team try to pick up the pieces as the police arrive.

“Follow me, and do exactly as I say,” Jack instructed, as he and Selena leaned against the side of the house in the darkness, preparing to go back inside and find Hailey’s other test subjects. “Can you do that?”

But Selena had stopped paying attention, her eyes drawn to something out in the fields. “There,” she pointed. 

Jack waved his hand for her to stay put, and he inched forward. He saw the figure, too, moving through the shadows at the front of the house--the frame was broad, his right leg dragging from the knee, where Jack had once shot him: Arthur Hailey. 

Jack did the math. Hailey must have seen them take out the weevils and sent his backups around the house. But when they never showed up in the other room, Hailey must have known his men were down for the count. Now he was making a break for it—either to disappear completely or bide time in the shadows, waiting for reinforcements. 

Jack stalked through the grass, lifting his feet so he wouldn't make noise. He thought of the stories of elves and fairies skulking so quietly their prey couldn’t hear them—those that laughed in their own tongues beyond the range of human hearing. As frightful as fairies were, he could relate sometimes. He’d lived along the edge of 21st century humans so long, he was nearly one of them, yet could never be the same. In Hailey, he recognized another man who wasn’t quite human. 

When Jack shot him years ago in that warehouse, Hailey shouldn't have been able to stand again. But he had, stumbling forward on a leg with a bullet hole clean through it, and leaving a trail of blood behind. Till this moment, Jack had forgottenhow Hailey had risen and put weight on the leg anyway, while cursing in a loud, foreign tongue Jack knew from other star systems but couldn't speak. 

Maybe Jack always thought he’d hallucinated the whole thing. Dizzy and taken by surprise, Jack had died not long after, and memory was an inconstant friend especially where death and fear were concerned. 

Gaining ground against his enemy, Jack left off his musing. He took off, dashing in a mad sprint toward Hailey and devoting his energy to the hunt. “Hold it! No, you don’t!” he called, trying to slow the man down and buy an extra moment.

He made full-body contact, crashing Hailey to the ground. All the anger boiling inside of him rose, and his fist met Hailey’s mouth with a crunch. Hailey had sheer body mass on his side as he struggled, but Jack had adrenalin and rage, as he pressed his knees into the man’s elbows and chest. It was satisfying, punching this bastard.

Jack’s fist came down again, and again, bloody with Hailey’s blood, and maybe his own knuckles were roughed up too. The pain and heat in Jack’s fist only fueled him, and the crunch of bones was cathartic. After so many years, Hailey would get what was coming to him.

“Jack!” Selena was behind him. 

Jack considered breaking Hailey’s neck. He deserved death, but there was a civilian watching, and getting Ed and the others to safety was more important. And maybe the man should lay and suffer a while longer. Jack took a breath and pulled himself to his feet. “Get his legs,” he told Selena. “He’ll be out a while.” 

Together they dragged Hailey inside and dumped him by the door. In the wide hall, there was no one left but Ed, still lying in the corner. Jack hurried over and knelt on the cement. “Ed, can you hear me? Come on, wake up.” 

The rag binding his mouth smelled like dirt and sweat, and Jack carefully untied it. They hadn’t been gentle, and Edwin’s face was sweaty, his mouth cut at the sides, his nostrils crusted in blood. Ed flicked out his tongue, testing the wounds around his lips. “Never thought we’d be doing this again.” His voice was slurred, his throat dry and tongue swollen from the gag, no doubt.

Jack fussed at the twine on Ed’s wrists next, cutting the knots with a knife. “I’m sorry.”

“Third time’s the charm?” Instead of sitting up, he just leaned against Jack’s shoulder for a moment. His eyes focused, but his pulse felt thready. Jack folded his knife and tucked it back in his pocket, then sat down, wrapped an arm around the man, and pulled him close. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “Should get you a blanket.”

“When did you become a proper nurse?” Ed’s eyes twinkled, though his face stayed empty. 

“Stay there, I’ll find one,” Selena offered. Looking around, she caught sight of the women in the other room, all lying on hay bale beds and strapped to the machines. “My God, what have they done?” 

She pushed her way into the room through the glass door, leaving Jack and Ed alone for a moment. Jack turned his face to Edwin’s cheek and listened to the man breathe. His stomach rose and fell, raspy but deep enough. His forehead was warm but not too hot. Jack twined their fingers. “You okay?”

“We’re all right, Jack. Remember the warehouse?”

Jack flashed back again to his nightmare. “I woke up with the dead. I didn’t know if you were alive.”

“We danced when we found each other,” Ed reminded him. “But he got away.”

“Not this time. It’s over.” Jack took a breath, letting his shoulders drop, and the tension fall away. Hailey’s body lay nearby with blood pooling on the floor, unconscious but alive and ready for justice, and Gwen had the other room well under control. 

He leaned against Ed, holding the man close, and they drew warmth from each other. The night had played out, and there was nothing left for the moment but to wait. Jack's mind was clearing, and his thoughts turned to Ianto, alone in the Hub, upset and exhausted. He put his free hand to his ear. “Torchwood Hub?”

The reply was prompt. Ianto was probably caffeinated. “Online, sir. Owen’s on his way with Detective Swanson, approaching your location in five minutes.”

“Copy that.” Relieved, Jack watched Selena looking over the patients in the other rooms, peering at their monitors. He’d been setting aside his questions all night, but he couldn’t any longer. “You hijacked her car to get to the Hub, didn’t you?”

“They’re bringing an emergency response team,” Ianto said, neatly sidestepping the question. 

Jack tried again. “And she followed us, and she’s a hero.” 

“The police shot two of the weevils, Jack,” Ianto confessed, his voice faltering. “The other led to Hailey’s church. She found a laboratory where they were keeping the women—test subjects.”

“Do you want to retcon her?”

“Think about it, Captain. You may need a new employee.”

There were voices outside. Jack nudged Ed. “Time to move.” And he stood, dragging Edwin to his feet and pointing his gun toward the door. 

\--------------------

Gwen and the others tied the unconscious weevils up with twine and plastic string they unwrapped from the hay bales. Most of the women were still dazed, leaning on each other, some still holding hands. 

The mirrored doors were locked, and Gwen couldn’t get back in the main room of the building. She guided her crowd out the back door instead, with Toshiko by her side. They very nearly tripped over the two men out cold on the porch. 

"Who are they?" Toshiko asked.

“Meet the two bastards who held guns to our heads, earlier.” Gwen knelt down and found the men were out cold, but alive. "Unconsciousness suits them. Let’s get them indoors with their pets.” 

While Tosh and Gwen hoisted up one of the men, Jerry and Bill dragged the other, and they dumped both men inside next to the weevils. 

“Fitting revenge, if they wake up and get eaten,” Jerry noted. It was true—there was a chance the weevils would wake up and attack these men. Gwen wasn’t feeling merciful, so she said nothing while she watched Jerry tied up their wrists and their legs. 

Back outside, Gwen herded the crowd toward the vans. “Those two,” Bill said, walking by Gwen’s side. “We stunned the first one when we arrived. Where’d the second come from?”

Gwen shrugged. “Jack must have got that one.”

Now that she was no longer fighting, and the adrenalin was fading, Gwen felt an ache through her shoulders. The women huddled by the van, and Gwen offered up the few blankets and hand-warmers they could find in the SUV. Some of the girls were wrapped around each other. “Stay with them,” Gwen ordered Jerry, who nodded. “We’ve got to go back in. I’m sorry.”

“Yes, mum.”

“Tosh, ready?” 

Toshiko’s eyes gleamed but her voice was quiet. “Got another gun?” 

“Afraid not, love.” Gwen shook her head. “Stay behind me.”

They moved back toward the house, uncomfortable with leaving the civilians alone, but they didn’t have much choice. Before Gwen could relax, she had to make sure Jack was safe and Hailey was taken care of. 

“I’d love to analyze those hormones,” Toshiko said, as they walked. “How were they made, and what can they do?” There was a little flirtatious rise of her eyebrow, and Gwen still felt a thrill, but now wasn’t the time to act on it. 

Besides, now that they had a moment of quiet, the night seemed even more horrifying. “It’s biological warfare," she said, "You always think of viruses and disease, but this is worse."

Mustering their nerve, they stood out by the front door of the farmhouse again. This time, Gwen was in the lead, holding her gun steady. She and Tosh looked at each other, hearing nothing from inside. Gwen savored a last deep breath, gathering herself, before she pulled together all her strength and launched herself through the door. “Freeze!” 

But it was only Jack inside, aiming his gun toward her. He laughed. “Gwen Cooper. Stunning entrance. I’ve taught you well.” 

“Thank God, it’s only you.” Relief flooded Gwen’s system, like falling, becoming weightless. Their guns dropped to their sides, and Gwen rushed forward toward Jack and his friend. 

“Edwin Clarke, meet Gwen Cooper,” Jack grinned. “Torchwood second-in-command. And Toshiko Sato, our computers expert.”

“Glad to see you’re on your feet again,” Gwen smiled and took Ed’s hands in her own. 

Ed squeezed her fingers. His grip was weak, and Jack was bracing him, holding him steady. Next he reached out to Tosh. “A pleasure.”

Toshiko blushed and looked down at her hands. “Mister Clarke. An old friend of Jack’s?” she glanced to Jack, who just smiled. 

From the other room, Selena walked in, carrying a blanket. “I’ve found supplies. Oh, hullo.”

“Oh, you’re here?” Gwen asked, looking to Jack and back. “Not with Owen?”

Selena nodded. “Ianto told me you needed rescuing.” She started to wrap the blanket around Ed’s shoulders, and Jack reached in to help. 

Gwen felt Toshiko by her side, elbow to elbow, and together they watched Jack fuss over his friend. Worry lines were streaking the Captain’s face, and Ed leaned against him with implicit trust. Gwen wondered, as she always did, about the very many people Jack had loved but never spoke of.

Jack caught her look, and mistook it for worry. “Owen’s on his way with the police,” he explained. “We’ll have medical staff here soon. Selena, make those girls as comfortable as possible. Gwen, Toshiko, would you help get Edwin comfortable in the SUV?” 

Gwen reached to help brace Ed. “We’ll get you settled, all right?” 

Toshiko and Gwen helped take Ed's weight from Jack's shoulders, and Jack winked. “We’ll do that dance when you’re feeling up to it.” 

“Wouldn’t miss it, Captain.” Ed gave him a wan smile as Jack ushered them through the door, and then Gwen and Tosh were alone, helping an old man shuffle through the grass.

\-------------------- 

Selena handed Owen the bottle of pills, and he stared at them, and then at her. "Mifepristone, the abortion pill. You had this in your car?” 

She nodded and sat down on a hay bale, gesturing for him to follow. “Just be grateful I didn’t drink your drugged water.”

“You saw that, hm?” Owen shrugged. “It was just retcon. Amnesia pill. Dissolves in water. Ignorance is bliss, and all that.” 

“The cap was broken,” she said. “In my line of work, you look for those things. Women come in the clinic with stories of drugged drinks. They don’t want to tell the police, so they come to us.” 

Owen regarded her. “You help women in trouble. But you took an entire bottle of these home. Why?”

Selena shook her head. “My sister. She doesn’t trust doctors.” She laughed, looking around. “I’m coming around to her perspective.”

“Hey, now. You’re going to hurt my feelings.” Owen smirked, lifting a smile out of the girl. She looked down at her hands, and he continued watching her. “You really followed a weevil, and tracked this place down, after Ianto held you at gunpoint? Yet you’re not a trained agent?”

This time, she shrugged. “It seems I did all that. I’m still wondering where the real Selena went.” And she tried to laugh. 

“Yeah? Well, maybe you’ve just met her for the first time,” Owen suggested.

They settled into silence, both exhausted. Selena had dark circles under her eyes, like a raccoon. Owen was perfectly content to let the police swarm around them and allow the medical staff to start processing their patients, as Detective Swanson had insisted. 

He’d relied on Swanson for a ride, and even swallowed his pride enough to call Ianto for directions using Swanson’s mobile. He refused to walk around with his tail between his legs, but he wasn’t in any position to battle for authority just now. He preferred to sit here, exhausted, and let the others do the work, anyway. One hell of a night, after one hell of a long day. 

Considering the alternatives, he was perfectly happy where he was. He surely didn't envy Ianto. 

Jack was talking with Cathy Swanson outside the building, which was the nearest they could get to privacy. No doubt he was begging and bargaining for Ianto's freedom, offering up all of Torchwood's intel on Hailey. It was going to sound familiar to Swanson’s ears, since Owen had tried the same thing himself, earlier, but Jack didn't need to know that he'd tried saving Tea Boy. As Torchwood’s doctor, he was still entitled to some shred of pride.

“You’re going to make them forget too, aren’t you?” Selena broke through his thoughts, gesturing to the roomful of women. 

“Would you want to remember all this?” Owen asked her, leaning back to look at her properly. For a second, he envied her too--caught up for one night in all this madness, but she could go back to her life. Back to her family, her partner if she had one. 

She didn’t meet his eyes. “No one wants to be robbed of their memories,” she shrugged. “Wouldn’t you always wonder?” 

“I’ll talk to Jack,” he offered. "I'm not making promises."

“Thanks, Doctor.” For the first time, she smiled at him, one hand on his. The touch shocked him for a moment. 

Her eyes were soft. Owen took a long breath and wondered whether he could get her number. But then, Jack was by his side.

“We won’t have any more problems with the police tonight,” Jack said quietly. “We retcon our patients.”

Owen nodded, holding up the bottle of pills with a shake. “Jack, we can't administer retcon with the abortion pill, and before we give them anything, we need to know what's already in their system." 

Jack nodded. “Toshiko’s outside, with Larry Daniels, their lead medic. They’re running blood and drug samples, looking for just that.” 

“All right. For now, take their medical histories,” Owen told Selena. “If Tosh finds it’s safe, we’ll give the pill.” 

Selena nodded. “Understood, Dr. Harper.” She smiled between them and turned around to her work.

“They'll need to stay the night in hospital under care,” Owen told Jack. “And get the follow-up drug, the Misoprostol, within six hours. It's the second half of the abortion cocktail.”

“Give Daniels your instructions,” Jack told him. “Swanson will have to keep them in isolation under witness protection, until we can retcon them.”

Owen nodded. Apparently Jack had already made some arrangements with the police. “Good plan. What'd you promise Swanson in return for all her help?" 

"Turns out she needs us more than she thought," Jack answered. They stood in silence a moment, both watching as Selena stood beside a patient, taking her hand and giving her a smile. There were other medics around them, but Owen suspected that Selena’s bedside manner would do them more good than the cold, bored emergency staff.

“Don’t get ideas,” Jack warned him with a smirk. 

“No clue what you’re going on about,” Owen returned. 

Jack threw him an, “Oh, really?” look, and then Gwen was walking back over toward them. 

“Jack, you even managed to charm Sour Swanson over there,” she grinned. “Sure your pheremones didn’t have something to do with it?” 

“Just my good looks," Jack answered. 

Gwen just shook her head, smiling, and reached out a hand to his arm. “Have you told him yet?”

“I’ll tell him in person, later.” Jack crossed his arms. 

Owen was sure he’d missed something between them, but that wasn’t unusual. Gwen and Jack often had their private jokes. But now they were talking of Ianto, and Owen wondered what was in store. Most likely Jack wanted to shag him silly and celebrate his freedom, but Ianto surely deserved some form of punishment for his long string of bad decisions.

“So what’s Tea Boy’s reward, then, Jack?” Owen asked. “He knocks off Welk, hijacks a car, sets those bloody weevils free, and now the police are giving him a free pass? Just doesn’t seem right.” 

“Leave Ianto alone,” Jack huffed. He looked back and forth between Owen and Gwen, irritated. “I didn’t fight with Swanson just to keep Torchwood. I’m fighting for you. Each one of you.”

“Ianto and Toshiko may need that.” Owen crossed his arms. “But you were bloody useless back at the pub tonight. I reckon PC Cooper and I can take care of ourselves.”

Jack let out a snort of a laugh, while Gwen cleared her throat and looked off into the distance. “Looks like Toshiko’s doing pretty well for herself just now,” she pointed out. 

Owen turned to follow her look. Some of the women had come indoors, trying to stay warm, and one of them was leaning with Toshiko, elbow to elbow against a wall. They were giggling about something privately, and Tosh leaned forward to taste the other girl’s mouth. 

“Oh yeah,” Jack noticed, smirking. “Think Toshiko will get a phone number before we retcon that one?” 

“Well, that’s--huh. Nice,” Owen said, gaping at the kiss until Gwen yanked his arm. “I wouldn’t place any bets,” he shrugged, and turned to the other room, where Selena was helping another woman swallow a pill. 

“And what about her, Jack?" he finally asked. "Are you going to retcon the Spanish girl too?” Jack didn’t answer right away, musing on the question until Owen turned back around to him. “Don’t, Jack,” Owen finally said. “Look at her. She's put up with our shit and she's done brilliantly.”

“Like I said, don’t get ideas,” Jack warned him. “Now, unless you want to be replaced by her, I suggest you go do your job.”

Owen nodded. “Understood, Captain.” And he turned away, with a wag of the eyebrows toward Gwen and Jack as he left. With his hands stuffed in his pockets, he walked toward the corner. “Hey, Tosh. Uh, mind filling me in on those lab results, since we're here to work, not to snog the locals?”

Gwen and Jack turned aside and burst out laughing. Tosh looked up with an embarrassed expression, and had to nearly push the other girl off her, so she could get back to her Torchwood duties. 

"What do you say?" Jack turned to Gwen. “Almost done here. Time to break out the retcon?” Gwen let him settle an arm over her shoulder, as they walked back out to the cold night air.


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Ianto are finally alone, and Owen finds an unpleasant surprise.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it. Let me know critique, comments, and your parting thoughts. And thanks for reading.

Ianto sat on the sofa in the Hub, running his fingertips along the edge of the water bottle. He’d dosed it himself, enough to wash away three days and forget ever meeting Winchester Welk.

If Jack asked, there was another bottle waiting, worth three years of his life. If he was going to forget Torchwood Three, he wanted to forget it all. He’d remember meeting Lisa, and then he’d read it all in the papers—Canary Wharf, Lisa Hallet dead. He’d remember a few months with Lisa, then nothing. 

If he turned the water bottle around in his hands just right, it caught the green light of the Hub. It reminded him of the barrel of the gun from earlier. They both meant forgetting. 

The cog door of the Hub opened with its dull grating noise, metal on metal, and Ianto thought he’d need to oil the mechanism soon, before he remembered he wouldn’t be here to keep things up at the Hub anymore. This way, at least, meant a fresh start. He could live with Rhi for a time. He could go to the States and live under palm trees. Maybe he’d meet another man who looked something like Jack, and he wouldn’t understand the attraction.

“Ianto?” Jack’s voice was quiet. 

On the couch, Ianto kept himself still and kept his eyes trained ahead. With a heavy thud, Jack settled beside him, and Ianto resisted the lure, keeping his muscles taut and tense.

Jack’s voice was a soothing rhythm. “It’s over. The police cars are gone. You’re a free man, Jones, Ianto Jones.” 

Ianto squeezed the water bottle until the light plastic crackled. “Hailey’s in custody? Everyone’s all right?”

“Yeah. The Shadow Proclamation are going to love getting their hands on that bastard--if he ever gets out of intensive care.”

“I’ll bet.” 

“Owen and Gwen have gone to raid that warehouse and hunt the remaining weevils. You and I, we’re done for tonight.” 

Ianto nodded and tried to think what to say.

"What's this?" Jack pulled the bottle from Ianto’s hands. “Retcon? I told you no.”

“Jack.” Ianto reached for the bottle, but the Captain held it aloft and away. 

“Do you want to forget?”

A hard laugh fell out of Ianto’s mouth. “Better than prison.” 

“You don’t need to worry about that anymore.” The retcon dropped to the floor. Jack’s hands draped against Ianto’s thigh and curved along his shoulder blade like warm stones. That old flirtation was back in his voice, silky like a good lubricant. “What do you say, next time we play cops, I’ll be the prisoner?”

Ianto looked up. “Is this a kink to you?”

Jack shook his head and stood. Now he sounded exasperated. “You think I’ll let you forget me that easily? Ianto, come to bed.” 

Ianto didn’t trust his voice so he simply dragged himself to his feet and followed the Captain. Jack stood in his bunker, looking at the crumpled sheets, and then turned. “Next time it gets that bad, you tell me. All right?”

“Jack?” 

The alcove was stuffy and too dark, and Jack’s face was a mess of shadows. “The gun, Ianto? I’ve seen that look, and not just with Suzie.” 

Suddenly Ianto was enfolded in the scratchy wool coat, with Jack’s hands splayed on his hip. Ianto pushed the coat off Jack’s shoulders. “Thought you’d retcon me or worse. If it were the only option--” 

“That was never going to happen.” Jack pulled away and dropped the coat on the ground.

“You think I haven’t seen the files?" Ianto asked, finally angry. "You’ve retconned a hundred people in as many years. You don’t treat lovers any different than friends or even strangers, maybe because there are so many of us.”

“They betrayed Torchwood,” Jack’s voice was hard. “This was different.” 

“One day, you’ll decide I’m the same.” Ianto looked away.

“Not going to happen.” Jack started to unbutton his shirt. He pulled it off, then reached forward again, pulling Ianto into his arms with murmured reassurances. “It’s over now. We’re all right.” 

“Are we?”

“Trust me.” Jack’s musk surrounded them, settling in Ianto’s veins, calming and certain. Even the traces of fear lining Jack’s skin were reassuring. The Captain hid behind his words and innuendos, but his emotions were here, tied in with his body, in the way he sweated and shagged. Ianto’s memories swam with everything from the past two days, from the red of the wine filling Welk’s glass, to the glint of the gun under the streetlight. He was so tired, it felt like it all could have happened a week before. 

Jack shifted, the light flickered off, and Ianto let himself be pulled into bed. Being horizontal, with the hard press of springs against his side, was a relief. There was a murmuring in his ear. “Just sleep now.” 

Despite the discomfort of clothes around him, Ianto almost drifted off with Jack’s arm draped over his shoulder. Sleep was a dark gap in reality, like a rift pulling him in. But then he felt something wet on the back of his neck and something shaking behind him. 

Twisting around, Ianto reached out and dragged his fingertips against Jack’s cheeks. There were impossible rivulets, tears Jack never shed except after his nightmares. 

“Not you. No.” Ianto propped himself up on an elbow, rolling Jack onto his back. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack whispered, and he let Ianto reach down and pull off his trousers. Ianto shucked off his own clothes, and they pressed together under the blankets again, skin to skin, pressing small kisses against each other until sleep claimed them both. 

\-------------------- 

The next afternoon, Ianto and Jack hovered shoulder to shoulder, watching the CCTV of Selena and Owen up on the Plass. “They’re standing a little close,” Jack observed. 

“She _is_ a medic,” Ianto said. “Trust Owen to be all over that.” 

Owen and Selena had visited the hospital for the afternoon to check on their patients. Although she wasn’t officially part of the case, Selena refused to let it go, and the Torchwood team was no longer surprised at her insistence to watch over the women she’d helped save.

“So, do we invite her in?” Jack asked.

Ianto nodded his consent, sucking down whatever embarrassment he must be feeling, and Jack activated the lift. Together, they watched the pair descend. Selena clasped Owen’s arm, leaning away from the edge of the platform. With wide eyes, she took in the dirty walls, the arcing fountain, the high-tech computer stations and novelties. 

Jack held back, watching as Ianto stepped forward with his tense smile to greet her. It had been a damn long time since Owen looked so pleased. Now that Selena was no longer covered in blood and sweat, but stood composed in the bright light of the Hub, Jack noticed how her long black hair draped in waves about her face and how her red heels matched her low-buttoned blouse. She was nearly Owen’s height, her legs long in pinstripes. Well-dressed like Ianto, he thought, and just as attractive, in her own way.

“Thanks for coming,” Ianto was greeting her.

“After last night, the least you can do is invite me inside,” she answered.

Ianto ducked his head. “I am sorry about last night,” he answered, “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“I’ll forgive you. I’m working on it.” Her eyes drifted up, looking around, then settled back on Ianto. “Honestly, it’s been for the best. I think you needed me for more than my car.”

Jack moved to intercept the conversation, his voice booming, “Welcome to Torchwood, Miss Garcia.” 

“Hi, Jack.” She looked to Ianto. “This is your Captain, isn’t it?” 

Ianto nodded, his gaze flickering back to Jack with something private between them. They’d been running about all day, working with Toshiko to hack Hailey’s databases and with Gwen to identify each of the women who’d been kidnapped. They’d hardly had any time alone, and Jack was anxious to shoo the others home and make everything feel normal again. For now, he settled with grinning at Selena and watching Ianto turn uncomfortable. 

Owen stepped in. “How about a tour?” he offered Selena. “Or refreshment? We have water, tea—“ 

“Ianto does make a killer espresso,” Jack interrupted, suddenly wanting coffee for himself. 

“Thank you, sir,” Ianto acknowledged. 

“Actually,” Selena said, “I’d like to see your research--my aunt and uncle, who went missing. There must be others. What can we do for them, for their families?” 

“We could call next of kin,” Ianto suggested, “offer our condolences.” 

“It would give them closure at least,” Selena agreed. “I don’t know what to tell my sister.”

Jack thought it through. When family members went missing, people often spent years looking for their relatives, searching for any shred of evidence they might be alive and intact. He’d done the same for his brother, Gray. 

“All right,” he consented. “Ianto, Selena, start compiling a list of those families. Tomorrow, make the calls. Tell them the full story will be released in the papers.” 

Ianto agreed, and Selena too offered her thanks. Jack left them to work, leading Owen to his office to discuss his findings. 

“I know how you love paperwork,” Owen said, brandishing the handful of files he was carrying. He plopped them all on the desk. "The short version: a few of those girls need surgical abortions, instead of the pill, but they’re on the road to recovery. Once they’re clear of hormones and anaesthetics, we can wipe their memories and send them home.” 

“Good news.” 

“For now, they’re under witness protection,” Owen continued. “Before we release them, we’ll need a cover story.”

“No,” Jack countered. “We tell the truth this time.” 

“Which is what, exactly?” Owen asked, his voice turning sarcastic. “A psychotic alien-hunter kidnapped Cardiff women, so they could carry half-breed Frankenweevil babies? Lucky for us all, Torchwood hunts aliens and saved the day? Oh, and sorry about the casualties.” 

“I’m sure the tabloids would eat that up. But, no. We keep it simple,” Jack answered. “Welk and Hailey ran a cult that kidnapped tourists and Cardiff citizens. They conducted unauthorized medical experiments."

Owen nodded. “You might be interested in these lab results. Those were potent pheremones. Hailey probably could control the weevils—guide them where to go, when to attack—and when to get jiggy with it.”

Jack chuckled. “Doesn’t surprise me—Hailey let loose that spray drug last night and the weevils came running. More like snuffling, really.”

“Well, Tosh is still embarrassed, and I caught Gwen checking out the girl at the café this morning.” Owen smirked. “Can’t say as I mind the side effects.” 

"I'll keep an eye on them." Jack sighed and turned to look out the window. Beyond the star charts and coordinates drawn there, Selena and Ianto were poring over records and writing notes. For someone who’d been held hostage the night before, Selena was perfectly at ease, handling herself like a trained agent. Jack wondered what else was in her past that they hadn’t uncovered yet. 

Owen cleared his throat, following Jack’s eyes. “If Torchwood’s looking to hire anyone, we could do worse.”

“I’ll decide whom we recruit and when.” Jack fixed Owen in his gaze. “Work with Swanson--stick to the facts where you can and sell that story to the press.”

“Easy enough. Gwen and I found plenty of evidence at the warehouse.”

“Right," Jack said. He still hadn't got the full story. "Gwen said those girls were part of Hailey’s congregation?” 

“They came voluntarily. All part of some sick ritual.” Owen snorted. “But they only had room in that warehouse for a dozen or so patients. Once Welk got himself dead, they decided to go ahead with the full experiment. They needed more room." 

"Right," Jack answered. "And they already had more equipment at that old farmhouse, so they moved everyone there. Then they set loose those weevils at the bar, thinking they could get rid of you and Gwen, and capture more women at the same time. They didn't have time to reel more girls in from their Church.” 

“Yeah, well, they shouldn’t have underestimated Torchwood.” Owen sighed, shaking his head. “Religion’s only good for one thing--manipulating people and science. Twisting things around to their own sick reality.”

“Hm. Don’t forget justifying evil deeds,” Jack answered. 

“Lucky we’re not in the Middle Ages anymore. That won’t hold up in court.”

“Hailey’s going to court?” Jack looked up, surprised.

“Nope,” Owen said with a smile. “He may have—uh—accidentally got injected with his own pheremone concoction. Died in a special toxic agony. The police have it as suicide.”

Jack laughed, disbelieving. “Thanks for the favor, Owen. Listen, I need just one more today. Can you make sure Selena gets home safely?” 

“The hardships you put me through, Harkness.” 

“She can finish her community service project with Ianto another day. Right now, we have more pressing business.”

Owen raised an eyebrow, and his usual sarcasm was back—“As in, handling body parts of the more living variety?” As he turned away, he called over his shoulder, "Never mind! Spare me the gay and gory details." 

Finally, the cog door clanked closed, leaving Jack staring at the desk, running his fingers across the dry edges of the file folders. Appreciating the silence.

Then there was Ianto, reliably hovered in the doorway. “Rules are rules, Jack. Maybe we should retcon her.”

"Hm." 

"She's too good," Ianto continued. "Just taking it all in stride. Can we trust her?"

“I don't know," Jack admitted. "But Torchwood needs to step away from this case. We need a liaison to make sure those girls are safe. Someone not connected to us. An independent agent."

"You want her to work for us," Ianto looked surprised. "As a contractor?"

Jack shook his head. "Just for now. Keep her in our sights, until we know if she's dangerous." 

“I'll write up the hiring paperwork,” Ianto nodded, thoughtful. "And do more background checks."

"Thanks. Let me know what you find." Jack tried to collect his thoughts and sidled up to Ianto’s side. “For now, what do you say to mixing up some of your magic brew? And then, we could--?” 

His hands were fiddling at Ianto’s waist, and the question didn’t need to be finished. Ianto extricated himself, carefully. “Yes, sir.”

Jack trailed him out of the office and hovered in his space, watching Ianto’s fingers teasing the levers of the espresso machine until the dark liquid spilled into a ceramic cup. Jack was slowly pinning down what had been bothering him. 

“You know, she’s forgiven you,” he said, fiddling with his keys in his pocket. “You could call her, sometime when this is over.” 

“If she forgives me," Ianto said, "that's enough."

Jack took the cup of espresso handed to him, looking into its steaming depths. “But you could still have that. A normal life. Have a family someday.” 

“Look how well that’s working for Gwen,” Ianto answered, turning back to the machine. His fingers pulled the levers more aggressively, this time. “No, I’ve seen too much, Jack.” 

“Here you are, sounding like an old man already," Jack laughed. "Like me." He’d seen more than Ianto might ever do, and the Doctor had seen more than either of them. But Jack knew how Canary Wharf was still haunting Ianto’s dreams. So he didn’t say anything more, just watched Ianto drink down the espresso and let the cup clatter back on the steel tabletop.

“Jack,” Ianto turned back around, his face twisted, upset. “Are you trying to get rid of me? You want me to go?”

“No way.” Jack nearly dropped his cup, took a deep breath, then set the cup down. “But all those things, Torchwood can’t give you. And you, Ianto, you deserve to be happy.”

“I chose to stay,” Ianto answered, turning to fiddle with the temperature controls on the plant terrariums. “At first, maybe because I had nothing left. But then, all the things we do here. All the things we see. And there was you.” 

Ianto turned back again, and Jack took his arm. “So many things, I can’t give you.” 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

Jack took a breath, grateful for Ianto’s nearness, for his reassurances. “Well then,” he smiled, “Until Owen comes grumbling back down here, I think we’re alone.” 

Tentatively again, Jack leaned forward, and they pulled each other close at the waist. Ianto melted against him, and they struggled to taste each other, hungry to forget the last 48 hours. 

Then the cog door screeched again. Ianto started to pull away, but Jack held him steady, murmuring, “Stay.” Over his shoulder, he called to Owen, “I told you to drive her home!” 

“You said, get her home safe. I paid the cab fare,” Owen answered. As he caught sight of them pressed together, he diverted his eyes and kept walking. “And that's my cue to go dissect something disgusting.”

Jack laughed. As Owen disappeared around the corner, Jack leaned forward again, and Ianto let himself be kissed and kissed. And their hands were roaming, and…

Owen’s voice interrupted again, annoyed this time. “All right, Captain. What have you lot got up to with that alien flesh I’ve been planning to analyze?" 

Jack winced, and Ianto did pull away this time, awkwardly futzing with his files. 

“I may have accidentally fed them to the dinosaur?” Jack admitted. “They weren't labeled." 

“Brilliant,” Owen sighed. 

Ianto huffed, turning back around to look at Jack. “New Torchwood rule, then. Label your meat." 

“Well," Owen said. "I'm leaving before you start in on that! Night." With a wave, he grabbed his things from his desk, and the door ground shut behind him. 

“About time,” Jack grinned.

Ianto held out a marker. "Time to start labeling your meat.” 

Jack took it reluctantly, and Ianto started unbuttoning his own shirt. His look was seductive, but Jack hesitated. “Kinky, but I’m not sure Sharpie’s my style,” Jack finally said, putting the marker down. “Besides, those things stink.” 

Ianto turned away, looking sour again. 

“Hey,” Jack leaned in to nuzzle at the cheek he’d turned. “You smell fantastic. Why ruin that?” His fingers reached under Ianto’s shirt, finding his stomach and hip bone.

Ianto reacted, shuddering at the touch and murmuring, “It’s good, yeah? How we smell?” 

“Together. Oh, yes,” Jack said, letting his fingers play in the hairs against Ianto’s belly. Then he pulled away for a moment. “But just so you know, we don’t have all night. I’m giving Edwin a lift home from the hospital later on.”

Ianto considered this. “I could… order take-away for you,” he offered. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Jack agreed. “And you’re coming with us.”

“You don’t want to go alone?” 

Jack shook his head. “Not letting you out of my sight. Ed will understand.” 

Ianto dropped his eyes, letting a smile play around his mouth. “At your service, sir.” 

“Yes, please,” Jack murmured in his ear, then tugged his elbow. “We have at least an hour.” 

They made their way into the office, where Jack pushed Ianto against the desk, capturing his mouth in a grinding kiss. He happened to glance over Ianto’s shoulder, at the CCTV screen behind his desk, showing feeds from the Torchwood corridors—and pulled away. 

“Would you look at that.” There, in a fuzz of black and white, two curvy figures were twining around each other: Toshiko and Gwen, mouth to mouth and hip to hip. 

Ianto turned to see what had caught his attention. “Tosh and Gwen? Are you planning to tell me why?”

“Maybe we should issue a warning,” Jack said. Then in a whisper, “Torchwood. Makes you gay.”

“No, Jack. That’s just you,” Ianto answered, deadpan.

“I’ll tell you later—but first—" Jack wrapped an arm around Ianto and pulled him downstairs to their little bunk room. 

Later, he would tell the story for Ianto and Edwin: how they’d been able to clear all those violent stenches from the air by the power of fabulous gay kissing. After that, he’d ask Toshiko to run some scans and make sure her own pheremones and Gwen’s hadn’t been permanently altered. 

Still later, he could do the research to find out if Selena Garcia was going to be a threat. And next, observe whether she might be the one to soften Owen’s rude wit and wrestle his demons back into their tombs. One could only hope.

For now, there was Ianto, who needed to learn he could make a mistake and be easily forgiven. Here was Ianto, who still seemed surprised when Jack pressed against him this way. Ianto, who didn’t realize how his scent played against Jack’s body and reeled him in. How eager he was to suck those pheremones off Ianto’s skin, to bathe in them, to drown in him. 

Just for now, they had some time, quiet and alone together, that belonged to just them and not to Torchwood.


End file.
